Category: writing

form filled space into rings- copperbound prophesies one lost on midnight-tumbled streets another clasped in hand still, unmarked unbroken but still sheared into scraps littering my carpet floor. accoutrement ghosts decorations for the dead things laying still in our hearts proper burial is only awaiting the sunrise skyblossoming perhaps I will find my own worth…

There was lightning in the clouds that night– Murky and bubbling waves- Tribulation was precision struck against the tattered forms we made after years of light-breathing and warmth-spreading — I am still yearning to pass down this breath- to find solace in the meandering of my grasswoven childhood memories of sunlight filtered into torn bodies….

I’m tending a garden fed from the blood still in your veins. How many miles and hours will it take for this silence to beget rage There is an unnatural lightness about the day, but it is an omen. Flying too close to the sun, as is known – a dire warmth to feel I…

I don’t know if a god wrought of another can be killed with brass knuckles like those I wear in my dreams. – They are good only for bruising and battering things. They don’t draw blood, at least not past the surface. – Just pooling it underneath, like testaments to the future- darker than you…

What notes must I play for you to know my name, like Mozart’s from the lilt in the right hand melody, never quite ceasing its bright trot from up to down, with the Alberti bass following along like a lost balloon- that inversion of placement echoing forever into history with laughing smiles (Amadeus’ namesake character…

a sunflower speckled in so many colours filtered light swaying on the twinkling glass of your voice laughing like raindrops as we share a joke and one too many ‘oh’s You’ve run your finger- tips over the frayed edges and smoothed the notes of this tapestry- One written in half-hearted grays and blues of the…

And there we are again, in that field filled with sunflowers. Pulling my mother’s hand to hidden places, so far removed from the storms of my father’s domain. Though I love him so, He was a terrible captain. Terrible and great and angry- Pulling the riggings all by himself, knots layered over the calluses bickering…

Running with 2 parts too few today, I’ve left my head and heart sleeping back in Atlanta. My eyes too wide today, too filled with scenes I don’t want to see. A simple mouthpiece for the past tide, so I let my hands play across the keys. That upheaval, a twisted serpent of consumption and…

Amber eyes in the dying light of this sunset confession pools of poisoned honey, your words are trickster’s pleas – Loki’s own creed. A vigil to the lies we told ourselves while we danced around the truth we so violently – so valiantly – fought against. A spectre of ribbons tying us together at the…