Tag Archives: grief

Doll

Nineteen rifles and the village was burned to the ground nineteen rifles stolen by rebels and then came the awful burning down what was called scorched earth policy. My mother my father my brother were burned down to the ground … Continue reading

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Watchword

Grief lies here like an insomniac pining for sleep. Like scissors running dull to the touch of fate. We paper over grief its ruins and brittle slates with hordes of torn pages. Forget me nots band aids christ sporting a … Continue reading

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Mothlight

It happens like that. Slow baked, sudden bubbling, no cauldron, face up in the vortex. You become days of mourning. A pall, a viscous grayish veil. You can no longer see clearly or purely. Vision pales, angel eyes gone. You … Continue reading

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Echoes Extended

Grief attends to the bones. And does so listening to the spaces between the hollows where the ghosts are held hissing where loss compounded by fractures gives rise to near distant voices crying out on behalf of all that’s gone … Continue reading

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Process of Echoes

Grief attends to the bones. And does so listening to the spaces between the hollows where the ghosts are held hissing where loss compounded by fractures gives rise to near distant voices crying out on behalf of all that’s gone … Continue reading

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Long Haul

Grief lies here like an insomniac pining for sleep. Like scissors running dull to the touch of fate. We paper over grief its many wrecks its brittle slates with hordes of torn pages. Forget me nots band aids christ sporting … Continue reading

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Where on Earth

Nineteen rifles and the village was burned to the ground there were nineteen rifles stolen by rebels and then came the awful burning down what was called scorched earth policy. My mother my father my brother were burned down to … Continue reading

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Keepers

Grief lies here like an insomniac thirsting for sleep. Like scissors dull to the touch of fate. We paper over grief its many wrecks its graying slates with torn pages. Forget me nots band aids christ sporting a porn stache. … Continue reading

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Metronome

It doesn’t take much to become days of mourning. This world provides plenty of opportunities to convert one into days of mourning. Then days of mourning becomes weeks of mourning. Months of mourning. Years. But it begins with days of … Continue reading

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In the Catacombs of Grief

In the catacombs of grief, she wandered. She wandered, without thirst, without hunger. This frightened her. Had she lost her basic humanity? Why had she created such elaborate labyrinths? Say that ten times fast, she said to herself. At least … Continue reading

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