As I look onto the horizon, the sky and sea melt together into scarves of blue, and I think of you. You were a town with love in every corner. I recall flashbacks that are not so much memories as they are photographs. I close my eyes and I can see myself smiling, there's the… Continue reading 2020
The clock ticks past the lonely hour of 7, and she does not pause to knock before announcing herself present: The questions she brings along paralyze me. The dots and their swirls suffocate my certainties with silence. She knows what she has done to me as she sits there musing and mumbling memories with no… Continue reading The lonely hour
there is hope in fall, in sacrifice and surrender, in loneliness, aloneness, in loss there's hope when hope is what you've lost the moment you set your home afire and sailed into a merciless sea in night ridden waves and charcoal clouds, future becomes fiction you are only left with a frame… Continue reading sailor’s hope
the habit of reviving; the need to revive; the curse of endlessly reviving. in listening to nostalgia-tinged lyrics, in touching the fraying frames of old photographs, in the scent of season's fall. i revive myself in resurrecting memories i am the warlock; and this, my magician's curse.
I run my fingers Across a ten story building That once buried me, Under its bricks Now I stand And it seems so small I spread my arms To snatch a memory But it fades; it runs; It traps me a second time A third time a hundredth time In ground that holds A ten… Continue reading Ten Story Fall
his fingers sculpt the curves of her figure, mold the clay that is her head, her eyes, her nose, her chin, and they are all his. this is the last step of his creation and now he must burn her body to set it in place - his doll is now shiny, squeaky, and has… Continue reading porcelain doll
not poetry, not prose. just words aimed at a sense of meaning.