honeywith two eyes you can see it, honeyMore Like This
can do better than me
but i'm asking you
my loving is an utter mess &
the greatest thing i have to give
it lives in my torso and always has &
makes me sick and always does
it begs to leave &
hates me, honey
because it's always wanted you
lives in me like a stranger
but holds you
my loving grows with you;
you make this world
JinShe tries to count his last heartbeats;More Like This
her breaths coming in circular rhythms.
He spoke his final words in melodies,
ivory keys screaming his demise.
He is gone.
"Life is a fairy tale astray."
She thinks, but his
composition is not unfinished for
hidden syllables framed the final notes.
"He loved you."
His presence lingers.
Say that to my face.Garr was a big viking but he liked flowers. He grew the best garden and then chopped his neighbor's head off because he had said it wasn't green enough. The end.More Like This
Who will perform the autopsy?There is a forest painted inMore Like This
scorching red, fire blooming
beneath its dirt-caked skin,
smoke skimming leaves
as plumes of flame snicker
behind the tail of a doe.
Coals coating tree-trunks,
hungry for life, it devours
the same way they ravaged her
when she said 'no'.
Bright eyes morph into murkiness
as the inferno marches.
When rust washed down
her throat, she did not scream,
only begged for them to stop.
Beneath the ash,
they find her body.
eye of heavenO blazing Eye that burning smeltMore Like This
Sinews out of powdery sands -
O brazen Countenance whose step
Carved mountains -
O Bounder of seas!
That stooping to speak low
Granted purpose pattern
Out of turbulent wreckage -
O Speech from the darkness and the void
You wielded promise, fire, flood,
The salt column and insect calamity
The heated brand of the just and the dreadful
Staunch and holy and burning Thou!
And most terrible Unknown
In that still night's cry
Not ours, but our unexpectant hope
A newborn's mewing drowned out by bleating sheep
a poem of longingThe evening sparkles on the grassMore Like This
On illumined globes of glistening dew
The moths beat powdered wings against the glass
And oaks bend slow as wind groans through.
How long still left until my love returns?
How long shall I look down from the hill alone
Beneath fragmentary wings - white birds that turn -
Doves that cry in solemn moans.
The moon in slender silver rises, falls
While my heart in aching calls and calls.