Death
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Ben 6.0?
Tracking my software development.
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the midnight call
dark hours accuse, misuse, abuse, confuse. The hope of living rises with the sun.
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faded glory
Try as I might, I just can’t see the beauty.
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Narcissi
A Gift – Consistently Cared For.
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too far from here
bear the arid flatness
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tempore vanitatis
measure the passing of our existence
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sunless solstice
celestial cycles don’t control all darkness.
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hold on tight
factory-installed
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strata
“feel the feels” a friend affirmed, and deeply dug did I.
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worthless gods
If only Coleridge had given Okeonos to that Mariner of olden days…
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not dead yet.
Do they ever stop breathing?
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mocked by numbers
Build Me! Your unseeing eye squints in condescension
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It’s Coming.
into her cavernous gullet everything goes.
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whistling in the graveyard
flesh-stripped scaffolding sharply buttress a new kind of body.
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September
Summer still nips at the heels; that playful puppy.
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Flesh on Bone
Stones/Bones/Lifeless Zones
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Sonnet III – What Was and Ne’er Will Be
the door before me bids me walk on through, but pieces – grief and anger – won’t allow.
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slow dance
she tends with love. dirt-covered hands - still painful – cleansing the insides, to her soul’s very depths, as only fertile soil can.
