Tag: Poetry

Strange Creatures Pt. 1: Heaven is a Devil of a Headtrip

Lips like dancing a slow cabaret, gently hiding starlight.

Trees offended the flatness, the bled, so we plucked them out, and fed

Have you been dreaming of herons, Great Blue Herons?

Moss, anticipating, grows to pad your steps. The last cycle and harvest of storms,

I miss those flies, I guess. I miss the persistant stench;

How have we come to where we are; how have we turned down silent rivers,

Waging a war of desire, we set boundaries between skin and skin,

My lines are a field of wheat, rippling under open skies;

I could rest here for a while, under hollow fullness

Becoming; Colours bleed

Finishing the islands, God said it was good.

Somewhere, right now, it is evening in Phoenix. The pavement is bleeding heat,