Like the thin lines of the Sun, I disappear by the moon light.
Some people are sodden
And redundant.
This is a mad carousel -
Mount each vessel
...
If you hold this heart emblazoned
Past the veiled sonatas you call a home
Then I would much incarcerate every zone
With a fire that emulates from a Stockholm syndrome.
...
The stars are hoisted
Upon the picturesque azure
And they twine
To craft constellations
...
Do not look for me.
For I have not yet forgotten.
I have not sent the epistles
To oblivion just yet,
...