Friday, April 20, 2018


rhythm of the line plumbing against the measured response of belly and ache hiss along the spine when they find us in the throes of space edges towards the infinite proliferation of maybe

smell of power and this the gift of what may be or may not be a promise to hold the memory of you in the passing of flowers fading into the story of how everything becomes new again

drip drip drip of something wet stirred by the fantasy of possessing or surrender of choice cuts of me at the border of home and hearth fire instruments prodding the flesh of the past and where are you now?