Love Sift

Love is the shell of the oyster The caramel centre The worrisome weather Coast coasting shooter Cyanide chaser Hand with the feather That beckons, bats, pressures Love is a dream without dreamers The real thing Love is the magical realm of beauty we wanted to lift... A waterfall pounding All streams of past to the place... Love is everything missed and remade

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Foetal flower

Wake up golden tipple of honey on the tongue Wake up, illustrious gaping gong Wake up warning siren song   Wake up foetal floater, again-glower, mirror shoaler, ebb floer… Wake up cinnamon and cedar permeater… Wake up badass motherfucker later Wake up crimson piano pounder Wake up long mad lover louder Wake up silver sugar sour - gleaming shared power, shattering statue shower - Wake up prouder
Read more

The tides of Europa

Bees look Sky cusps Breeze wafts We’re hot - Purple lava Eyes of Europa Woken-hopers Space-expanders Not expander-landers Spouting spirit handers… Mars won’t surrender - Venus will avenge her Life will flower Despite your weather Whole species louder Visions of forever… Fix us in the downer… Secure your wager: Lobotomised-agenda That feeling of smugness Won’t linger forever, Stay in the gloom Long enough to skew Maths has one rule - Our minds are a tool To consolidate you But in patrolling our thoughts, The truth sings you through…
Read more

Flutter child

So we let the vampires drain us into submission… Until we have no power to fight anymore Let them conquer our mycorrhizal networks, where special hearts and minds once helped us see beyond the abandoned treasure chest… Until our melancholy becomes desperately soothing like cocaine to a cancer Until we no longer speak it; just assume it - this feeling… We’ll stay half awake, but no more than this in-betweenness - Live just about comfortable enough lives where we can breed love through our offspring, as if it’s only an offering, an inkling rather than a way of being… So we’ll sit with our knives: focused, hearts heavy and ticking As if the only way to protect our children from the lie of the dim light that once flickered from the door is to kill the moth that made it and will one day come back searching… The knife’s easier to use than letting that child leave that room of shadowed walls; to test this world absent of fear, linking wings to our firing flutter form…
Read more