Sunday, August 28, 2016

storms to the east . . .









There are times when darkness lies forgotten upon my skin
hollowed & broken
knowing there is starlight but feeling the microfiber of
grey rub annoyingly
the
wrong
way
wind moves things unseen and forgotten
as i merely notice & refuse to open
ANY
box of paints
eyes close & songs are heard
whisper tracings
again dove-grey & faint & haunting . . .
there .
there.
the crackle of dreams & place
grace,
glory & knowledge find the honey-ed bleed of this night
and
shutter in their brillinat sureness
soon . . .

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