On the way home, in the midst of his evening bustle His hand griped at the lament buried inside his hearts muscle Wilted and torn he took off his blues and remained in the dress for which he was born. Pondering in the stillness of feeling lost and lovelorn. Like a gold fish witnessing…
Eden- I Am But A Visitor
“And in the beginning, life, like shattered shells splintering the solitude of a slumbering tounge, it slit, spilt and fertilized nebulous dreams. And just like that and oh so suddenly, with the wind against my teeth I was born. Slapped, belligerent and bear chested Heart raged & reclined against varnished rubber ribs, clinging to the…
What Crones Up Crows Drown
And though his bones they have bled into oat, ash & dust, his stories, quite blahsensical, they shall ever never rust. Whilst parliamentary principles perabulated in his head, he laid upon his pillow, solving problematic proverbs in his bed. Swashbuckling tales wrapped in a small trim blue skirt as she holds a ‘drink me’ bottle beginning…
Old Hands by Rippled Sea
imagine your lips upon his unironed face.
When he was young,
it was you he chased.