spring aheadlittle lost hourfree to play in the flowerstill fall calls her back
cold and darkthe moon isaging slowlyin the skylong night passingcold and dark
late wintera midnight poemwritten on a cold dark nightsleep is elusive
dark watersbeneath the poppieslie the forgetful remainsfar removed from pain
the last trainlisten tothe whistle fadeaway
take a chanceactions are deceptionand thoughts are actions tooa guess put in motionis the best one can doto define perception
slow wintera season of thornscold beauty flowing slowlyfilling to the brimpatient bees shelter in hivestelling stories of the spring
night and daydarkness waitsthe break of dawnlost hoursslow to recedenight and day
rose and thornrose sweetnessthorn deep sharp stinginto lifewe are recastrose and thorn
four o'clocksalreadyin the backyardblooming
first and lasta long thoughtand a short wordonce spokenout of silencefirst and last
dark prompt 77I'm a little short on sanitybecause this world isstarving for sense.
light prompt 76after a bad daya good one is boundto follow along
dark prompt 76'You would LOVE to knowwhat I'd do to youonce the lights are off'he said.
dark prompt 79oh what shall we doa storm cloud is coming soonflash and crash and boom
haikumaturgydisembodied thoughts,sigil-called and sigil-bound;poetry as spell.
sleep paralysismy eyes jolt open,and they are all i can move;i am paralyzed.in my bed, inside my room...but there is something not right.i feel a ting'ling,a static of nerve-endings;pulsed rhythms of fear.the wave-form that is my soul,interference patterns rake.the other is here...sanity's antithesis,sniffing out its foe.its ends: naught but predation;its means: naught but liminal.it is upon me;its weight suppressing my breath,crushing out my light.my eyes are jolted open...they are all i can move.
know naughtless an is and more a seemsvibratory suggestionsless a sees and more a dreamsrippling off our intentionsdisregarding conventionsless an is and more a seemssubverting our pretensionsless the water, more the steammore an ocean, less a streamimmune to our abstentionless an is and more a seemsbeyond our comprehensionpure divine interventionmore a whisper, less a screamthe sole path to ascension less an is and more a seems
iterationrat-a-tat-tatteredrat-a-tat rat-tat-ta-tibedrat-a-tat ra-tothearing the pattern(hearing that which i transcribe):is naming is notleaves blown and tattered(demeter's gift to the bride);a bouquet of rot.
baptistrystanding there:knee-deep in the sea,in the rain.ringed in ripples,my soul sublimates.
crossedyour glanceunder a sheen of sweat I shiver
Day 5the dawn drips vibrant redsand golds across the morning;a skyward canvas
renga tree xix her sobs sweepabove the wail of the windtears carried aloft
for sai gilmorethe poet's plank-scale patterns inform written galaxies,the reader then transforms these into hard localities:each two points upon the spectrum of the same reality.while i read one shade(translating an absolute)you wrote another
doneclosed doorthe hollow echoes of his apathy
Day 27her eyes were wildlike the fire in her hairand the fire in her heart
debateto our mythos: antisepticwe are told we're made from clayto our nature: antitheticthere are so many 'only' wayswe are told we're made from claytho our source is sacred waterthere are so many 'only' wayseach holding aspects of the othertho our source is sacred waterthis paradigm's gone dead and dryeach holding aspects of the otherthe siblings all have Mother's eyesthis paradigm's gone dead and dryit will fracture and be sunderedthe siblings all have Mother's eyeshues of above and hues of underit will fracture and be sunderedforms from chaos, souls from shellshues of above and hues of underquell light and lust as fire swellsforms from chaos, souls from shellsto our nature: antitheticquell light and lust as fire swellsto our mythos: antiseptic
seasons changeremnants of winterthe last few hours till springa seasons slow changeanother turn of the stonegrinds us finer and finer