Tag: Books

Under Clear Skies

The ground is the hardest clay Groups of limbs follow its path Huddle in the sun Knees hidden, ankles astray Plot on how to tiptoe along cushions of leaves.  

Early Chill

The sun is dull today, grey clouds and a cold, cold rain. Thrushes scatter from tree to tree…scolding me. Witch hazel fades to orange, then red. Oak leaves are starved skeletons and thistles appear as brittle, brown tubes. The spring with its wild water,…

Lost City

The streets have no direction, no destination. They wind back into themselves, while they take her… somewhere… she’s never been. She looks at a map of the city, it would appear to be simple, small, within a defined space. On the streets is a…

The Walk

She walks the old road, its surface malleable, as dirt reclaims its path. Once a smoothness exited, now gone, curves vanishing, the wind, indeterminant. Her bones feel like prisms, sharp angles, poking out of moving flesh, legs move with assuredness, tenderness. The road has soft…

Mary Shelley

Remnants of the past…embedded. Curled inside chalky lava flows Stuck to a shape…ripples in stone. Only elements change its appearance.   I and everything wait for the rain. The parched flowers and grasses Fragile skin, stalks, browns and beiges. Bloomed full, so easily, last…

Come at a Price

The amount of alcohol in her drink. The loudness of her laugh. Soft shirt sleeves, brushing raw, coded skin. Tender angst made her… Makes her Voice rise Like dinnertime restaurant dishes. All she said, forgotten. All she would have said, remembered.      

Words

Sometimes I feel like murdering them, squashing them under my feet, watching letters bleed out, separated from the word they are attached to. Other times, I place them in an incubator, checking in on them from time to time. Some go in a special…

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