Excert From The Slingman (courtesy of Karen Chan)
Love, perhaps indecisive, insecure love:
just a slap of honeysuckles in the mouth,
just some braids whose movement rose
toward my solitude like a black bonfire,
and the rest: the nocturnal river, the signs
from the sky, the fleeting wet springtime,
the possessed solitary brow, desire
raising its cruel tulips in the night.
I wounded myself stripping constellations,
sharpening my fingers on stars,
spinning fiber by fiber the frozen contexture
of a castle without doors..."