Category: Poetry

The church walls shining in arches, growing vines, peacocks, and vases.

Flip a card of power at Ravenna— that a battery comes alive—flip a card

I keep walking, hands buried deep, collar turned up, and then I see them— a man and woman huddled at the bus stop, stealing kisses between clouds of breath, laughing like the world isn’t breaking a little more every day...

Tilt Everything is bricking out. Nothing turns red or black or hits trips or boats up without consequences. By that I mean the man gnawing on his knuckles and his baby daughter somewhere he can’t go...

Silence does not exist: Faced with (im)possibility Things that My body Speaks to me, Usually whispers, Are now made screams.

His strange adventure to his wife he told; not disbelieving was she. 'Piskies are they', said Elowen to Tom, 'from time of old.' - and Tom was Piskie-led - as some still say. It's harmless mischief - but - so they don't scheme - and bring good luck - leave out for them some cream.

Left with understanding The self-servers will always be fed