Category Archives: Poetry
If you are wondering what is happening to the earth, or what that sound is you hear at night, halfway between dream and mortar, rest easy, it is simply women waking up to move mountains, by order of the Moon’s … Continue reading
Piers, the nimbic embodiment of all that there is, right now. New Romanticism in the air. Nocturne. It’s what clouds eat for breakfast.
Piers, at play, in the swingland of shadows and thinned veils.
Piers, cloud-crowned, reflectively slotted in her shadowlife. Nocturne on the horizon.
Veils thin, and purple, to reveal those between worlds– Do not be so sure.
Trudging through fresh dusk, apparitions leave no prints– twilight becomes them.
There are stories, chanced to be heard in silent scars– listen with your eyes.
Papa Hemingway, gone to pot in Mexico– to have and have not.
Where she fell in love, a red-lettered memory of palms holding sun.