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Literature Text
I wander much through such old country,
a ghost who's thinking of other ghosts,
missing them and their effects,
an exile from the present, and from past.
a ghost who's thinking of other ghosts,
missing them and their effects,
an exile from the present, and from past.
Literature
Stirabout
The ghosts of a thousand Celts
haunt where you lie, heavy as time,
dream-quiet in ochre and grey.
Warm as an October moon,
soft in a pink-cheeked dawn,
you wake to honey and cream
under my hand, butter melting
into a strawberry kiss,
just so.
Literature
Root Riddled
Above thick roots
knotted and gnarled
by unanswered questions,
birds chirp riddles
to neighboring trees.
Literature
lapsed
you've eaten my clairvoyance
and I've nowhere left to turn;
vermin stray like fingers
down my gullet.
"I do not love you"
are five words fit to kill:
I close my teeth over my tongue.
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Oh, congratulations on your DLD, Lance! 
