…That Thing with Wings

Autumn breathes on my face from afar — so fresh! — stirring every unique nerve ending to sudden, electric life. As if my mother’s cool hand rested gently on my arm, I’m startled awake. And out from the ashes of languid, summer days, my heart rises up and up, spiralling higher, higher, and higher still, feathered and beating…Read more …That Thing with Wings



you reach out a hand to pull sky down the stars, yes the heavens themselves are but bread to you, so break it, break it all upon the ground, shake this broken universe until it begs for release from the ungodly bass of your voice; your ego polishes its own brass to trumpet a truth…Read more Capital

Poet (dried).

This is trench warfare. As bloody useless and harrowing as. No one really gains ground. No one really wins. Even waiting or withholding takesone to the grave, one torn limb at a time, a burning treespitting firey sapdesperately - not to live, you understandbut simply to discharge excess energy.I could throw some aged work your…Read more Poet (dried).