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 [...]

Novel Collaboration (“Identify”): Chapter 1.

It’s not a comfortable silence; a tableau of images coursed through him like a dark wash of blood and glassy eyes gating towards him. He didn’t understand the complexity of what he saw, and shaking, he started to shiver on the floor, feeling mounted towards the absolute of death. She crouched down with him, surveying his eyes. He felt he was bleeding out, and before he could get a word in, she gently put the cigarette on his lips, told him to puff. He coughed. His legs swayed, his ribs jammed and compacted. Most of all, he felt trapped in a faint chill that squeezed his eyes open and closed. “Take the cig, Tom, and give it a kiss for me.”

solitary dream.

A deep sleep in winter’s canyon turned away to the solitary dream— where it is systematic before a silence of grief; the canticle is seen through other eyes, not mine, and I don’t understand a word, whispers press unmourned in your eyes, the trace of winter hungry in different hungers despite the reverence of red [...]

into loneliness.

I broke away from the ocean, in through our eyes, the waves at high tides, the roccia parts and splits where Moses split the Red Sea. In the womb of wind,           limbs and bones outline the fading star,      and the world seemed to drown in yellow velleities of loneliness. Eyes to the dream, [...]


the shadows             cover the sands, each finger             in my hand threads liana             coast blue the bodies of ephemeral god's eye; my father holds my hand             by the rope of the bridge; it, in a sense, is remote to me as a child; in memory, it architects a mist in mind, orange [...]

Forgotten (to silence).

"Anger" by David Sutton. 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 sleep; in weakness, the oeuvre is loneliness as it slips bloodily [...]


tyranny  blinded by the ghost of an isthmus, dark eyes fed upon your laugh like a poison  to surge, the chill  when you look at me; the dust of the horizon shapes cruelty. Reaped in the quiet like a violent beast as solitude precedes covering the ashes blistering on the pale shore this void of [...]


Of the April wind                         the distant perdu                         world, persists with                                     the evening sea shore conducts in sleep             the phase of light.                         There is no sun. There are no wings                                     in the abyss                                                 with black fruit,                                                             beautified in the sacrificial                                                             breath. Fall, fall.                                                 Amnesiac in the [...]

In The Stars.

For the present, memory is rattled by the sorrel sobs that do not quell from my bleeding lips And I, now enclosed, in the flowers and darkened furnaces that blemished on my pale skin, I do not know, nor do I remember, but it is through the ashes in my weary palms, On the ghoul [...]


Keep your dead lilies, Two reared seeds. And the crisp red triste Of a cherry blossom Grows by the peas, Of the blue afterglow On the sameness of his laugh. As red wallops stifled cicada wood, The epistle chokes in the water; it’s been awhile. Scurf of a half Frost; marked their caged, primped words [...]

Perfume Loring…. (Prose)

I. Perfume loring, turning, hedged to the twitching, to the crying moon like sutler, silk drowns muses flesh and bone, stitches on fatty quilts, wanting warmth, muttering, muttering through whispers, begged by praying hands, I hate this place. Promise like a shadow pecked against the incant, restores like Lazarus. Crypts cites damaged; Similar to la [...]

A Night Walk. (Prose)

Pennies and old skeletal-like lining threads slip out from the rafters of the grey old well in the mall—search in for the coin, fiddle with it, the dirt croaks under nails, like the bridal hem that touches the base of the floral steps, patterned by the picturesque; rib of man; “leave a stone at my [...]

I’ll Keep. (Prose)

At the flares of rivers, flames crackle studded and dead when they withdraw from the cold. The darkness recedes over the bejeweled haycocks crying, as my torrent of blood flourishes like a blue weeping violet, rock-strewn to the near hill-side at midnight; I pardoned myself to the wall flowers as the wind vanishes above the [...]


An ale river Between the mountains Reels by holy mist. Dead in the Eden, The land, the land, Screaming on the Aragon valley, “Beyond fragile lips Of a bleeding, tormented river, It is lost as the seashore, And is caressed by mothering wind, In the crimson river, confined by silence Which salutes the pre-winter to [...]

As I Mourn a Flower.

As the rose adorns The mourning river secedes in Yorkshire skies. I give my love to the flower of pears, In velvet array on the vineyards, A vestige in a nightly soul Passed by a little eye of the moon Darker than winston smoke. The water does flow gently Onto a ballad of the dark [...]

The Moon Rises.

The moon rises above the flimsy bough, As the stream ends Into a whispered ire on torrid diamonds I see the death of forgotten winds stowed As the river bends And I whisper to the descent of… this darkened night chastened. I whisper into my hands of this creased moon That abandons the lights And [...]