Poetry

“Thick Voices of Repose” by Brand.

Your spiritDrawn across the skiesVeiled in silver laceBeyond secret shadowsOn darkened peaksWhose granite walls echoThe voices of my heartJoined in constant songAnd cascadeBreaking away impermanenceAs the only rhythms of the nightWashing across synapses branching. Watching the wheel of new crescentPulling… Read More ›

His eyes.

Leopard’s paws white like scolecite stones faceted to fingernails to the death of the wild, a resemblance to a beast, a blaze of light, and to the gods, their hand in life and death; feral blood, extinction, a feeling of… Read More ›

Forgotten (to silence).

Stare at the ceiling, I am an afterthought, dreams cast forgotten memories in twilight’s tongue rivaling alone the silence of the world that pretends to be still, when it’s fucking not; I wake in the room alone, I intend to… Read More ›

For mercy.

An epilogue of a vista in father’s ocean eyes; the echo of the dream fallen in conniption a chrysalis of fuckery at the mind-felt waves in ice welts; torturing in a quasi-silencing of shame as the wind blows the sail,… Read More ›

Memory.

Memory elides into the eyes there (let it die) in the sloth of dreams, it is a protest against the ice shadow of what the fuck were we thinking under   the frail permanence of memory, this stir dislocated into… Read More ›

Walk Alone.

Originally published here. Blue fog, derived from the morning,Dancing alone in an orchard with the breeze,In a world torn with a hunt—a slow death for us all,Then don’t let us go then.We walk alone into the arterial landscape,Growing colder and… Read More ›

For that is only what we seek.

The roads, the valleys, the ripened dreams in solidarity, To a handful weaved of a ghost aubade in speech Evoking contingent flames unmourned, and embraced As the shaken birth from the morning, I starve the feathered dreams, As I no… Read More ›

Look at all the eyes.

Look at all the eyes of humanity and light cry into blood-welling forgotten in unbridled free verse; around the corner that last breath in the mirror moves in dream and desire nigh to each taraxcum dandelion flowering over mother’s relics;… Read More ›

Mother.

A/N: This poem is dedicated to my mother, along with this instrumental I created to go along with it. I am adjunct to birth and death. Undraped, I emerge from womb—a pupa I barely cried, it was a spring birthday when… Read More ›

Grandfather. (Prose)

Sometimes I wonder who you were, what kind of person you were. You were my father’s father. You are dust now. You are in the death of an ocean well.  This glow like an oil lamp through my window as… Read More ›