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… Read More A Night Walk. (Prose)
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… Read More Firewood.
The dripping willows through the fragility of the dream Makes the numb candles point to a dead fortnight Surrendered to the blinding rivers that I would soon forget In this winter dream; where no leaf crosses the river, Where no dream is upon the weak bough above the sea, Which instills the wraith of the… Read More A Forgetful Dream, a Memory.
As I’ve forgotten between the winds, Of some strange strangers walking, And the stalk of dreams had balm the reaches Of the settled flames in the wind, With the acknowledgement, rather bothered, Of the wasted, like bones dug out of the dirt, Like soil with collective stems of a crooked rock That brushed your fingers,… Read More As I’ve Forgotten Between the Wind.