The universal shift of focus from being to seeming permeates our age of confusion.
The vanishing words, the vanishing images, the shedding of selves like autumn leaves; of withered lives on wrinkled paper, dust off the treasure chest in the desert, next to a snake regenerating its skin polished, your porcelain appearance melting into the undefined- does the new verse annihilate or build you? perhaps it is the fading portrait eitherContinue reading “A poem: November”
I gather tokens of death in appearance fragile- with thorns hidden underneath. A hand reaches out… Blood lingers on thin skin. Petals burn, Smoke intoxicates: you breathe it in. Funeral words carved in marble skin- paralysed, you listen blindly as they inhale life.