An apocalyptic moon, ravens on a leaky roof and a dark rain pouring through the ruins of these dilapidated hopes, a shelter that never truly was as the darkness devours the frailty of truths with the deep hunger of wounds ever in need of a soul to feed on, watching without mercy the tender flesh…
Blood And Blooms
Broken to make room for growth and so from these seeds of darkness sewn beyond this death and the twisting sprouts of relentless weeds is new life and beauty beneath the deepest of roots reaching through the blood and the muck waiting to bloom within the waking of the light and me 9/11/18
This Is How The Poetry Bleeds
It is the haunting of the words, the disturbed silences of the aching thoughts like lost souls searching for “home” and I, their tortured guide offering up each and every time a vein to set the restlessness of our deaths free along with this half light of the living darkness in me that whispers through…
