From Notebook circa 1997:

I would say I was a thief using a spider
Like a hunter is pure in taking game
To complete conclusion
I would concuss against desire
Until the wound broke into deadly motions
And spat color from rays more empty

The breath compresses, drawn inward
Flowering inversion, the hand, the key
Might become at any moment
A serpent
Fucking your thumb with its poison
Angels of light turning blue in extinction

But the bullet is cracked in its chamber
The dancer spins off
Her error into lecture
My shell turns dangerously to liquid
Spurning the jewel and stealing the drug

Skin of my dream
Burst, everyone
Longing for the glance’s lock
Descending
Final