24 August 2009


The scent of decaying pine needles reaches us

and there is no denying the existence
of home.


How might we become
[super]human, as we
chance our soul with
the passing of time.
Your past life arches
upon your back,
scrutinizing over your shoulder-
it wills the threads
to break. Or to be whole.


Take leave when nessecary
and wait not for the applause.