That, feeling

right in the pit curling a feather with boots and wings that, feeling of desire of a need to compress tremulous it starts spreading wings of springs and glorious things that, feeling of apprehension of a call to unwind such warmth rising calling and falling that, feeling of inhibition of a flavour to inhale and … More That, feeling


To become the light within solitude this seed grows to become the flower of this soul’s silent collapse of death to become the beginnings of raindrops aware of their flight, singing to become kisses of existence unsated with the orgasm of life’s humid mulch to become ancient, inherent, solitary free from the awakening of this … More Nascent

Clouds without rain

Clouds without rain evaporate into ghosts Memories eroded and forgotten barren souls of bleached bone The immortality of time carries with it life That, moment when rain explodes with pungent echoes of its death That, fleeting moment when you remember your own ghosts


of bell ringings and soft spoken clouds of fresh brewed tea and otherwise silent kisses of those soft spoken clouds with their tint of pink their blush of night’s calling of visceral grip this mighty claw opens within a horrid, almost beautiful elation of empathy towards the soar of the final moments of the end … More Bells