“When I talk about flesh, what I mean is that I want for my
words to be touched gently, as if you had never seen my sort
of dialect before, as if you never wanted to read anyone else
again.”
When I talk about skin, what I mean is that I want for my
diction to be harvested intentionally, as if you had never seen its
architecture before, as if you never wanted to read anyone else
again.
When I talk about nourishment, what I mean is that I want for my
art to be ingested addictively, as if you had never given into
temptation before, as if you never wanted to read anyone else
again.
Breadcrumbs at dinner tables and wined stained carpet floors
I want you to look at the imperfections and diagnose them like
forensics agents decoding blood splatters at scenes of homicide.
Let my work be both Jackal & Hyde— let it stand heavyweight in
contest with Hannibal Lecter in the only four corners of a ring I have ever been confined to
These pages.
Be compression in the only cages
I have ever known… my ribs.
