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,
...
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...
I miss it sometimes still.
Not the person themselves,
But the intimacy of a bond that felt eternal.
The desperation of high school friendship,
So all encompassing, all consuming.
You imagine they will take you from graduation to grave,
A constant body sewn to your hip,
Never to leave your side.
The foresight to imagine things outside closed environments is too foreign a thought for you still.
...
Swathes of golden ribbon striate the sky, weaving through silken threads of meandering purple,
Soon, when those blooms of tiger lily orange fade away, the deep hues of night will descend,
Like the slowly closing lids of tired eyes, darkness will fall, extinguishing the essence of day.
But for now, in this humble in between, day and night serenade each other for a while,
Basking in the fleetingnes...
“I think I just met the happiest person in the world”, the woman chirped, her blue eyes glossy and dissociated. Her smile was fixed and unmoving, as though she were made of wax and the expression had been carved into her face.
The room under observation, visible through a window that took up an entire wall, left the scene before her in full view.
Romy, the reedy lab assistant with eyes shielded...
