Tag: Isolation

our ghosts.

our ghosts accompany loneliness… mirrors of distant memory      find to the dusk like at sea      a memento in a dream      that eludes me and floats…      Orange blossoms into Ophelia’s violets and the granitic rocks      rush to the red dust for how quietly time has passed  through the statuary of rock      and forked poppies with leaves of loss it’s … Read More our ghosts.

out of reach.

A wish, these solitudes in dark wept, midnight                exits in a dream, torturing you; emerges      in oceans, as if the face of the sea-light                is in a trance of wander, a dark mind urges       this end of game; the half-lit stretch devours death quietly in hyacinth winter as we left;                a rock rises along the carved windfall, disowned by … Read More out of reach.

Lonely.

lonely, born in the ecstasy this root of blood; walk away into the forbidden, unmade road split and wounded, eternally with revived memory, the stranger of winter shadows into the dark planetary motion, the insanity picked from flowers will too go on as we walk away.

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 older,Split into freedom, around us were roadsHungered and torn to the shaking of whorlsBetween fallen sick bones and grazed water,Our whispers sleepy, our hands … Read More Walk Alone.

Modernities.

isolate the modernities  carnations touch the wind, mocking them, like a cigarette in the abandoned sunlight, the entropy, monstering god-like shores fragmenting ends of the mind, traversing the watery rock for the sea, the mouth left behind from the cave, teeming with blood; the mountain defines the reflection in your eyes, where have you been? existence in the memory entreats a hollow entr’acte of … Read More Modernities.

The tree of apricot.

the waves in the dying of the dark by frozen, alluring dreams when you’ve never dreamt unsheathed upon each layer of rock that bleeds out by daylight where we see the blood drift, sliced in a sleepwalking geyser the dispensation of mid-summer, choked upon the shoreline ‘where have you been?’ I say, ’nowhere. It could be winter for all we had known, roasted upon … Read More The tree of apricot.

Dissonance of a dream.

the dark slithers, betraying the scarlet moon into the mellifluous hunger in each haze,  a new mother of spring, the hills, the silence of untiring wanton blood  broken between each finger and bone, nesting in the shadows in immense maddened breath across the perennial wound that dispels  with the rain and alluvium struck with the heavy winter, a shell to bind me to you, … Read More Dissonance of a dream.

The last thought.

Rocks lay before             the last thought and solipsism; Inside a frost stillness, decaying by the tree; Forbidden—the serpent’s blood betrays             the bone fingers that lay upon stone.                                     Feral. What happened?                                                 Illusory dreams                                                 are mere being.                                                             Devising a relent                                                                         to emerge outside                                                             to the city, deprived of life                                                                         deprived of streetlight.                                                                                     the lonely catkins … Read More The last thought.

Ghost street.

A leaf falls Into the monsoon shadows. I turn by the grazed branches Trembling by the dark windows Into the blustering  Of frost and the muzzled crystals that lay Into the black linen on the ground. We are alone in the patters of wind, Hear; each turn of the rock, And see our hands  Restless into the dark tides Beyond the heart of a … Read More Ghost street.

The last mask of winter.

The fields             sluiced with rain                                     on the leafing             of memory, On each rock and scree             living in the Appalachian breeze. The mind of frost             crusted in the corbeil             undressing in the air. Where is our consciousness?             The bluster of stone streaked in corrupt minds             on the last mask of winter; The white surf of the ocean … Read More The last mask of winter.

Hidden.

Hidden in senses, we, alone, are disenchanted in the sleep blue mist, as an expanse of ghosts and dreams never had. Leave behind our minds, the dispensation of a white trance in the universe; leave behind the resinous trees secreting mist where no space is left. The shadows of our mind, displaced in amber, consumed in a streaked world with skeletal memories left to … Read More Hidden.