CIRRHOSIS IN VERSE
His yellowish form collapsed like a horse on the blue mattress
an island surrounded by clement waters.
For one second
A windowsill wren cocks its head, eyes
In the broken mirror's branches my horse-god stretches
Must be death I adore.
Don't tell me negative
charm the room.
"Cirrhosis in Verse" is from a larger body of self-reflective work that interrogates the slipperiness of truth. The poems deal in concentrated emotional and intellectual reckoning, exploring the process by which internal and external realities fight to become conscious enough to speak, if possible, in chorus.