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Literature Text
The best of my paintings:
the hum of
a sad piano,
a morning cigarette,
and a graveside angel;
all I ever wanted.
the hum of
a sad piano,
a morning cigarette,
and a graveside angel;
all I ever wanted.
Literature
coffee talk
they speak in the
rattle of coffee cups—
sea bent lungs await the press
of the espresso crave lips
as taste fills curling limbs
settling the
stars
in—.
Literature
my neighbour has a garden.
my neighbour has a garden
& not many flowers bloom,
but he tends to it with great care –
his garden is bereft of birds,
stripped of glee or sunlight,
& rain always seems to bathe the ground
his daughters don’t come by anymore;
it’s just me in his backyard,
listening to his war stories told to no one –
he tells them to the wind with tears in his eyes,
(begging someone to please
“listen to me”)
but little does he know that the wind
has a name
Literature
remuneration
there were dreams of abasement, tearing up at the thought of
the noxious corners of your eyes. i saw them at a glance and fell
headfirst in the Styx, catching billowing waves of uncertainty and
heartache. they crashed with a decade-begrudged mind that was far
from healing -- far from me.
and though the fall was abrasive and the
waves, their own harangue, their heartache
and toxins faded & found graphite talismans
engraved in a red wrist warmer.
the ground that my blood decorated, with a history of broken bone
marrows now showed how unnecessary a transplant w
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