In from some deep recess, tiding through cobbled streets, echoing, cavernous alleys, the blue moon silhouettes her. But from my soul ebbs strands of memories. Romantic notions. Wanting. Then Losing. And so I do not welcome her.
I have wished it, at the sight of the trees – bleached white and stacked in unkempt piles and fit for a drowning. I have dreamt of a year of magical living, maybe in some slow, abandoned seaside town, thus to the whims from the sea… lend myself to every fleeting, wondrous sensation.
Supine am I and resting, you brownish yellow-breasted and singing, as once was I in realms of wondrous, purplish dreams, but I open my eyes to wreathe them again in this garden of peerless beauty.
On a hill, in the black light of the half moon, I do not know why I stopped at the tree, a blind supplicant in the tabernacle, a pauper at the gates. We are two or three or infinite in number but all are we the same. But I knew not the meaning of theseContinue reading “X44”
Truth or fable, this is what I choose to believe, that day in, day out, rain or sunshine, you stood there beneath the almond tree, looking out in the distance at your God given charges, of which fates and laws have now deemed you unworthy, though in the end only death could release you fromContinue reading “Harbour View”
There’s beneath the heavens a blade that passes right through, and in the way the day unsheathes itself; though beneath the carnage lingers true but slow a strange, black beauty. And in this unfolding Night is a rose.
Grey, fine mist. Aged white dandelions. Pink, fallen blossoms: beautiful deaths that carpet your gate. Yet, once in your kisses… I have known spring.