Author Archive

Cycles

I am perpetual motion,
born a sojourner
finding no tent,
destined to meet my end
wherever I’ve never Been.
~ ~ ~

Strumming

syncopated fingers take their
ceaseless wanderings drunk of
bottled bubbles and
breathless whispers as
nocturnal rhythms
play Us
~ ~ ~

Daze

arisen,
countenance glazed, unshaven
amidst embers and wine,
butts and corks askew
in the tunnel dry of light,
shiny rails pillow for his head
he lay waiting for the Train.

Specter

she wore a black shirt,
a black hat and black shoes.
she accused: they trampled her ceiling
and rattled her floors,
and with black words
shivered her and her little black dog.

they hijacked her black phone,
robbed her leather black wallet
then made her show bare
all her black skin.

then on the black seats
in her black car,
by the apparitions,
they fled her away
into the black Night.
~ ~ ~

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