Stories
One Wheel
What I Could Hear
Winter Story
Sick with the Sun

Poems
What to Say
Home
Jealousy
Wake
Hiking a Mountain...
North for Winter
When I love you...
Induction
Poem
Dusk
Seven Hours
The Morning After
Learning to Drive
Place of White Plains
Green on Blue...
The First Time...
How I Am
For hours...
Enter June dusk...
Inside

Induction

And to say I canít
find my breaking point is
to say, when the telephone rings and the cord
gets tangled around my neck, that Iím only just
bored and nervous with my life. And to say
my hands are a sieve trying to hold us together
is to say I have nothing else to touch at night but
the cold bricks beside my bed. Sleep
controls me until my body revolts; but who can say
this finger is broken over this oneóeither way
I can hold nothing.


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