isolate the modernities carnations touch the wind, mocking them, like a cigarette in the abandoned sunlight
Words can touch and sooth the soul Words can heal others and self Words can do miracles
Then, was enslaved in your sheath in a bosom of appearing angelic roars; hosting daringly with perfectly groomed verses, of your patterns of inflictions Unfold me; mold me!
flowers for you bursting like a ghost
She must be a queen of innocent eyes She must’ve sweet smell of incense She must be a stunning beauty She must be a quiet music of all your poetry.
Fly, fly, my little Raven,
Reach, reach for the sky.
See the world from the air,
My little Raven, and show it to me.
Look at all the eyes
of humanity and light
cry into blood-welling
forgotten in unbridled free verse;
Sweet soul, I can see you, smile
As we hike in rugged beauty
Pausing to touch fingertips
I step away as you call me back
Upon the dark winged azure, the dream invites
Light freedom from long ago; the tumult births mankind, and through my lips,
I will have recognized the shadows beyond the world,
With eyes among the laurel leaves, I see tears upon the rowan fields
the winter sets the dawn
In a world torn with a hunt—a slow death for us all,
Then don’t let us go then.
onto the cherry blossoms silently
with bloodshed, caressed to dreams
in the awakened winter, arak trees.
stretches the wings, forgetting the language
upon the sanctuary; midnight timbers, and the wind
murmurs a Hebrew song—
assails the salty waves in a coup, the air free of scars
nude into the enraptured
forbidden sea, behalf the whisper,
its madness in autumn at its wake,
unknown into the burial of yellow roses,
in the tears of ghostly sands,
tossing from forgotten sea light
silhouetted against torn anamnesis
the waves in the dying of the dark
by frozen, alluring dreams when you’ve never dreamt
unsheathed upon each layer of rock that bleeds out by daylight
where we see the blood drift, sliced in a sleepwalking geyser
the dispensation of mid-summer
Rocks lay before the last thought and solipsism; Inside a frost stillness, decaying by the tree; Forbidden—the serpent’s blood betrays the bone fingers that lay upon stone.
overripe in its practice, abandon abandon Disinherited dark mind walks alone you have nowhere else to go beyond dark shores, there’s a fog that blooms; you can’t go back
A leaf falls Into the monsoon shadows. I turn by the grazed branches Trembling by the dark windows Into the blustering Of frost and the muzzled crystals that lay Into the black linen on the ground.
There is no sun. There are no wings in the abyss with black fruit
it is April, Among the years broken in winter When it was not winter, And we could not have been alone