Thirtyoneness

I am 31 — round pointed. Hindsight reflects the exit from a very jagged round year. No one had warned me that curves could have such sharp edges, and I have a suspicion that my Saturn turned upon itself to test the very definition of the word resolve.

Personality became flaw. Leaves thorns. Honesty took on truth’s costumed lies. Body became unbearably light; the soul overwhelmingly heavy. Poetry became reality. And reality was an avoidable fiction.

A candle hungrily ate its own wax, racing to find the source of the fire.

1977


1979


1981


1981


1982


1983


1987