#read-poetry #poetry Limping, wrapped in tattered ink black cloaks, now take in the Life of isolation. Rejected instead we Invented the church, now seated‬ in trees‪seeding our treasure chestsfrom round our necks. Songs without key or measure ‬Sing from the ribs‪Spacing the breaths, peeling back fascia with rusted old tools. Oh, alchemy, come find our… Read More Anathema

On Fire

You now hear my broken chords
Faintly in the the distance unmoored
Loosed and free until run aground
Upon a salty moore. Safely cleaned
I glean on the white million grain shore
And here I lay against my will
Here grounded evermore.
Yet I’ll still wake in the morning.
Habitually when my hands
Parting the sheets aways, sailed
Long gone I still reach after you.
I’m the water, the dew
Maturing into a pinguid mist
As the hands strike up the
Song we clap at noon.
The hour’s imminent.
Time to ride a wicked dream on
A silk weaved carpet twisted
With last night’s ghostly breath.

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