Monthly Archives: May 2018
In the shrine that we build for first kisses, lies the furloughed still-warm lips of Childhood’s ghosts, forever puckering to seal love, airtight in its untold lore and claim to rose. Advertisements
To sire a riptide, the roseblood moon, fully engorged, sank lower and lower, its binding navel grazing the lattice mouth and lacy tease of a sea forever beckoning softly creased light to charge and mount.
Forget about it I said it’s fire under the bridge and watched from a distance as the flames and smoke rose over the sea as if Dante’s infernal take on the Birth of Venus.
My stubborn when growing sawteeth fierce as fuck rails against the moon and sun and sea and me bracing that double-edged notion to have to hold in trying to shape the music of air into something that leaves behind a … Continue reading
Today the glass is half empty full of singing void and fire me cutting my teeth on the rim tonguing rapaciously at spiked air clenching at the impossible slake if only I could swallow smooth as grace this bitter seethe … Continue reading
Her talk of bruised skin, and how it caught fire on the far side of trespass, fascinated me to no end. She wanted to burn clean through, didn’t want to hear any more talk about cooler heads prevailing, or stubborn … Continue reading
There is this small piece of glass an unstable irritant at the back of my heart way way back a shard that got lodged there god knows when and lately in considering and reflecting upon this bit of glass and the … Continue reading
For a subliminal time only it’s here Neverland’s lucid New Romanticism replete with pricks, needles and pines bespeaking Pagan Renaissance Nouveau a movement that will start in your vowels and end in your Oh’s especially suggested for those soft in … Continue reading
I have never been to Paris, and so I must write about my time there, how Hemingway threw the gauntlet at my feet and challenged me to an armwrestling match three times, beating me each and every time, and Hemingway … Continue reading