there is an urge

for the imaginary

as time in its vulgarity

only makes


while halfway halves

halfway blend

failure and regret

as a single Janus

guarding every new direction.


pride carries no crop

which can turn

canter to gallop.


questions unasked over coffee

go unanswered at tea.


luck hides under soda bottle caps.


chaos is hand-hand

with strategy

and an army of cossacks

can’t stop collecting

the past into one word.