Tag Archives: Beauty
Too many small hours pimped out to wraiths on parade– Heart, in real time, breaks. Advertisements
The man, to make a living, had plastered hundreds of faces upon walls, but there was something about this one which held him captive. It wasn’t just the stardom of her name, its siren-call, but the sheer magnitude of artifice, … Continue reading
I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. Whether or not they help is either of primary consequence or none at all. Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard in order to reach the garden. This what I tell … Continue reading
It is, at winter’s finite edge, that we glean the bent, palsied bloom, somatic in its turn toward Spring’s inevitable host.
Rapt, in gratitude, the writer fasting on silence, and slimmest wisps, to gain Beauty’s favor and superlative bask, beyond recognition.
The ongoing rabble and cinematic narrative in my mind is finding how nourishing and full and tender the heart can grow steeped in silence alone.
The quiet net of one’s fingers, mute and aggrieved, yet lapping volumes of light, a measureless brood husking the dark to derive a glean, its rivet bound to the commonest plight.
At the wound’s core, dark luscious ravels of text, courting, inviolate measures, the fathomless brood of Beauty’s End.
Sometimes a word scratched in dark ink onto a page is the loneliest sound in the universe, and yet, what beautiful solitary company these verses endeared to mortal failings.
Blindly, blindly, blindly, she reaps every choice from my scythe and asking. I live with brute innocence and murder in her heart. I am not her child, I am her fiction, her sad fable and paling wrath.