Tag: NaPoWriMo

City.

a fucked up dream
stares left in its presence
in the old city lights,
warmer than the protestation
that rebels against animal bones
for different gods, this sacrifice,
in the brutality that begs our need

mauvaises terres.

We drink red tea in the winter and summer
by the pale, ocean shore with rain
feeding on the sunlight with coffee beans,
and spoke in broken languages to each other
originating from your father in different countries of Europe,
he speaks almost a dozen languages.

Ocean.

stretches the wings, forgetting the language
upon the sanctuary; midnight timbers, and the wind
murmurs a Hebrew song—
assails the salty waves in a coup, the air free of scars