Who clear away the bodies, tie the flags low, remember who exchange your smile for piles of shit-brown guile
Olivia deHaviland, the gates of death sucking the skeleton's thumb wet feet adorn the dead screen
Darkness in the world. The voice in sweet cities, Sleeping in dim snow.
dragons head . I woke one day in that awful season pulling wallpaper from the drabbest wall I heard the cuckoo in my head, that sound I had come to dread and larks ascending Descending, on an unmade bed where art lives for arts sake neath a poem of bard Blake
Looking up, the pink moon rises over the North Sea and it hits me- this spot, this arresting moment is what I’ve been waiting for. Longing with anticipation eats away at such glorious living moments.
Worry’s the advance Interest that you pay
For the masquerade is a ball, and life it’s dance floor.
terms of comparison seems irrational Earth is diverse
We both had enough of bad memories. And every time we try to create a happy one, what you did keeps to knock me off. I lost my grip and therefore, you lost me.
When the quiet hits the room Like a silent bomb, it arrives And in the silence- a lonely feel It comes in a pretty disguise.
I’m just going to push the boat out, spit some words and mess about. That’s what I love about writing, when you start out you have no idea what to talk about.
“This friendship will self-destruct when you open that box"
No hero loves adventure,
No hero enjoys the path.
The roads, the valleys, the ripened dreams in solidarity,
To a handful weaved of a ghost aubade in speech
Evoking contingent flames unmourned, and embraced
As the shaken birth from the morning, I starve the feathered dreams,
As I no longer follow through with the nightlong autumn near the glass,
I hope we don’t forget each other, and that we will remember
The wind that passes through the roots, and the river rocks that sought for better dirt
As the Golden Ray departs,
Now this journey begins:
The Next Chapter is here,
And from here shall tell.
I reflect as I view the past:
Forever have I held my tongue,
O’er fear I shall attack you,
Rather than confront the past.
And then when it comes to dreams,
Do not speak of them to me
So excited to announce that “Throughout our dark minds” has found a new nest on Spillwords Press. I am beyond thrilled to share this news here.
Stood softly forever still.
I wake to the darkest light; the marshes cry in the mist,
And my eyes fix to the shaking of the wind, grazing the footfall by the permafrost,
It is a maddening world out there—the roads beaten, unlit,
Crawling of a cedar’s blood
Slaved in an undressed pottery polished in white lines