Tag Archives: sadness
You held the islands in your eyes, where it rained and rained and then the sun warmed wet to a wafting hiss. This Jean, you, the feline slink, filigreed shock, and sinewy comb of whitelaced waves ruffling upon puttied blobs … Continue reading
I understand, you let the wrong one in again– doors close, doors open. (Artwork by Nigel Van Wieck)
Too many small hours pimped out to wraiths on parade– Heart, in real time, breaks.
Anne, lovely disturbed Anne, pinned by gravity, and bedded to cobbles, cherishing the vagrant destiny of clouds, and calming distance.
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.
A man in a bulky white parka is running across a snowy landscape. The hood pulled over his head is lined with seal-gray fur. He is wearing plastic goggles that are caked in frost. … Continue reading
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.
Listen raptly to the furls of drizzle pecking upon thin glass, and you will come to know how close dreams are to trespassing rare intimacy upon closed worlds and distances.
This is how I grieve– words, pearlescent to glean, and bare, poured, like so much light, on petals bruised by touch and Beauty rare.