there is neither peace nor dream in a day. truth spattered, canvas inundated. bubbles fluid, liquid no longer...
all the poetry inside, the curtain… dropping dusty upon the frailty of my words the world, too old my thoughts, too young, too same
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...
fallible fallen features flawless foes feel, feel, feel formulated
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.
his gloved hand reaching veiled indifference death of a stolen voice crushing, squeezing
starlight sings silver catalyst for dreams the woosh of the window unit roars with smokey tang on my lips, I shi… shoulder to door pane, perceptions…
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.
She saw them fishing poles in hand, walking fro… Fingers, gnarled, crippled with the passing of age. The skin around their eyes, a cany…
for the beauty of the day we wept huddled mass one, singular in thought we
there is a chamber there is a heart we dream it we taste it ours, unconditionally
my heart has rooms that sigh filled with dust of disuse, of mis… Waking world
and in that tear, everything broke every shard of pain, every loss the losses yet to come her voice, her heart caught
the taste of purple inundation eatery fingers flowing in scratching clutch we hold
The metaphorical heart Burnt in frozen grasp As the stale air, travels, labored far from memories, moments of horror caught
