But he has gone, into the bleak Into the trees, my master-lover And sovereign annointed by Blood and unholy trinity. His valour, mine the spirit, him the dagger, mine the scepter, and in… Continue reading
Money is an illusion
Love is manufactured
Friends ride the winds
And jobs are a prison
Until it were naught but colored chalk:
Hurt’s said to make the heart grow wise,
Not a record of asking when, when, when.
yellow stepping on the gas to catch the shifting signs but no; meters before the signal line so pause, take a sec, it’s not over yet. he will wait. it’s his turn. —–… Continue reading
Child, let go the yarn that tugs you sky-ward; and gone, it’s gone, eager to play with the clouded angels. Pudgy balloons belong to the wind; but litte children are birthed of the earth
like fire-eaters and philosophers
who — for want of weed or sea —
ponder the secrets of the dying
embers crackling on the spring bonfire.