Tag Archives: Van Gogh
Every last star ghosts its own holy rapture– we, a part of, bask. Advertisements
Behind starry veils, embers crackle blue and gold– You were there, dancing.
She, bidden by valid tense, unhooked a claim of stars, and lighted her grief, inverting the symmetry of arc.
The aureate secrets of silence, stuff stars are made from, and us, cocooned in gauzy slumbers, wink and blink and nod till well-scored we become cinders in a torch song, long-since faded.
It is what you might call omen-brushed yellow, a virulent scare, its quotient graded just below dark, and subtly so. A sky raining crows, like a scandal of mustaches, or handlebar dissent. Yellow crosses daring a blight, or braving a … Continue reading
Stars, ancient cinema illuminating a silent revival in cursive.