All lights go out. Whether it’s approaching day mercifully silencing the hum of illumination or simply the filament, the incandescent heart, failing, all lights quit. Quitting. It connotes a decision made, a conclusion reached. If an end is inevitable, maybe giving up is the only control to be exercised. Stick with it and prolong suffering […]
Read MoreThese vowels, these long shapes passing through rounded lips and coughed in consonant wrapped shells fired from discordant thought, well, they have no target. They’re sprayed into the great above, rippling past cirrus intention and falling short of weightlessness, tumbling down with fury, a rain of shallow indignation and blustery but hollow fervor. Being unkind […]
Read MoreWhy bother drawing another breath? It’s only going to disappoint. These smooth pronouncements, oh how they make the legs quiver. Oh how they make the lust wet. And yet, stop. Keep the momentum in a downshift and bless the birthed dissatisfaction of hungry days. Because what’s right is right. Because the truth is a spit […]
Read MoreThat dust in the windowpane at the failing light of dusk, it sings that melancholy lilt in whispers. It longs for days colored with better hours, fairer attentions paid and chances for the right moves out of each painted-into corner. Take out the pen. Spill blood ink with confidence. See things shift in the mirror, […]
Read MoreListless skies, forgotten moments in the hymnals of ardent passion, and a pinched indulgence soaked in salt, sweat, fire and clinging need. These forests shredded, seas left barren and desert winds driving razor granules into the tender – crimson rivulets coalesce as words fail; as night mercilessly chokes. Were there only a way to suspend […]
Read MoreHe wanted to be the first star in everyone’s sky, the glimmer that snuck at the corner of attention, seized thoughts and drew worship. He wanted to disobey the rule of days, burn brighter than the sun and pull oceans harder than the moon. Furtive maneuvers clung to sweat-drenched lust, word spills of oil killing […]
Read MoreThey’re in the air, singing in whispers from a broken sleep, interrupted by moonshade and a think oil of unforgiving that courses through their bodies as if a heart still pumped, empty pistons of impulse counting cracked regrets. They pass right through you; vaporous trails of memory released from history by the random trick of […]
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