On:

Pried by persuasive light, flickering sun-dried eyelids, catch the flame of morning.Wake-up dust wells-up, in tear ducts of cognizance,spinning without moving. Digital clicks, after musical ticks, and red lights on a small black screen.Hangovers of comprehension, still trickling in,only conscious by concession. Grinding through gears, with growls of rust, andContinue Reading

On:

I. Forest Blues The grab of trees is nothing.I’m hip to their enchantments,their impenetrable leavings; they oughtto be less obvious when calling the windsfor a ride. Their branches out them every time.There is always one struggling to smother a laugh,always a pair curving like arms, always a skeletalbeckoning, a threatContinue Reading