The metaphorical heart Burnt in frozen grasp As the stale air, travels, labored far from memories, moments of horror caught
his gloved hand reaching veiled indifference death of a stolen voice crushing, squeezing
She saw them fishing poles in hand, walking fro… Fingers, gnarled, crippled with the passing of age. The skin around their eyes, a cany…
He speaks with a purpose that dema… with soft, soliloquy of word to sh… the emulsification, the blood of b… and women carrying the weight of m… Storyteller. Anthropologist.
base of an eggshell in a portrait of painting she is pure canvas had I been a painter she would direct turpentine
eyes awaken, asleep. I dream the taste of purple I dream the touch of you. I dream of tall grass fields on my… shuddering in magnificent breath.
there is a chamber there is a heart we dream it we taste it ours, unconditionally
The touch that spans length and difference I feel the distance that he holds captive in heart and… one reach, one touch
She walked the raised concrete streets, built from the backs of someone whom she didn’t know. She walked the raised concrete streets, surrounded by creatures of origin. The rain cascade...
my heart has rooms that sigh filled with dust of disuse, of mis… Waking world
for the beauty of the day we wept huddled mass one, singular in thought we
fallible fallen features flawless foes feel, feel, feel formulated
I list their names on my heart Count them... ad nauseum, infinity… They, who sew my shroud. I list their names on my heart They, who released it
all the poetry inside, the curtain… dropping dusty upon the frailty of my words the world, too old my thoughts, too young, too same
it was a blank page. Her hardened gaze caused no words to appear. No flourishing language to embellish the explanation.No distractions to explain the lack of written monologue. Not even...
