What an oddity you were,

Heavy headed and plumed with grey,

With a hooked bill and stout feet.

In the end you stood no chance.

Cradled by a land that honed your creation for too long,

Only for a knocking stranger to pluck your bloodline from this earth.

Tough and bitter to the tongue of man,

It was a cruelty that your demise was not but two legged foe alone,

But in part,

At the hands of o...

There is music

In the breaking of syntax

So that

Despite the meaningless prose

There is something to be

Salvaged

Where else

Can the beholders autonomy

Dictate the meaning

Of something

As intangible as

Words...

I keep her close to my chest,

That writhing, raging, hateful fire.

Her limbs reach up from somewhere deep in my throat,

To pepper my words with her bitter heat.

_Though I have been inflicted with unimaginable pains, _

_Though the sweetness of my trust has been defiled, _

_Though I have been wronged. _

__

_I have learnt long ago, _

_That there is no virtue in spitting the temperament of my ve...

Cold

It creeps

Under flesh

Slipping through bones

To glacier your mirth.

How does one set alight

A body that has long iced?

Your spirit is deprived of warmth

And I find myself growing so cold

Holding on to hands that give off no heat....

Of dirt, and of blood, and of life,

The softness of a fossilized history,

Embedded underfoot and renewed each spring.

With time, greedy tongues yearn for beauty,

Turning clay for gold, for riches- for _more,_

Hungry for the gift of life and plentiful.

Human hands turn to plough and harrow,

Then to metal, and motor, and teeth,

All to gut the earths loam of her offerings.

A desecration of orga...

We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

Pressing their steel toed boots into the flesh of our heels,

Willing us to move forward.

We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

Where even the best and brightest soon become corpses,

The same in bones as common folk.

We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

A constant reminder that we must outdo the...

The quick to anger and the fast to forgive,

An ouroboro of seasons,

The hare surrendering to the fox time and time again,

“I’m sorry for my hunger”, says the fox,

“I forgive you”, the hare replies,

-“devour my body”.

Scarlet leaves lay heavy like a body,

The forest floor a carpet of caution,

Step with velvet feet lest you wake the sleeping beast,

“It’s my instinct to pounce”, says the fox,

...

Rusty pupil in the sky,

Bleed your bad omen earthward,

And chaos will erupt.

///

A shifting moon speaks of churning tides,

And though the temperament of change is undecided,

A sky filled with red is never a good sign....

A field of purple violets,

Spreading across fleshy skies.

Overgrown gardens sprouting from throats and limbs,

Cultivated by unkind hands and bitter thoughts.

My deepest condolences to these bodily flowerbeds,

Who’s experienced gardener tends to these crops with fists full of seeds....

A threadbare red sweater with arms too long,

A pair of frilly socks soiled with days of play.

A hiked hem brushing goose-bumped knees,

A twisted tie with a knot drawn tight.

One could imagine these pieces of sentiment started all the same.

A swath of cloth,

A loom of thread,

A stylized design,

And nimble hands.

These articles of clothing seem to follow us wherever we go,

Swaddling us on the...