They’re Not Asking for Radical Solutions
Breathless; shaken; craving the crown of torn clothing and scarcely blanketed In ethic - by the usual. And this is glory- this is breaking ground at sea-level.
opening caverns of rolling waves, grave cries - a crisis of confidence and broken, gleaming bone. Soft spoken lies and for a second I am in their grips until light warms cold skin and erases the memories of my arms The signs of morning break through a late-bloomed hour And fall like rain Into my eyes.
*Published in 2008













