Our last days

“Forest Path in the Ardennes” by *rboed* is licensed under CC BY 2.0. So I stood at the gates of Atlantis, But no longer did I want to go in, For through life’s labours, its many chambers of sin, I took my pleasure as though it was fair practice; Repetitions for the Heavenly second life, The fey promises to begin. . . Riven by modern … Continue reading Our last days

a sea that housed her heart

Where does one begin, I tell you at the start! How well I knew the days and nights in such a tender way —something unfamiliar come, with sudden dray. A dreary conception or a phantom afterthought, I was mid between the lines, when my Eleanor was caught. Caught by my affection, caught where hearts proceed to form, and bond between the heaven’s angels and the … Continue reading a sea that housed her heart

you had your first psychotic break at seventeen

before you died you asked if mobile phones and mugs of water could conjure swarms of bees you said you’d seen it happen and to reproduce your findings you lodged ceramic in the walls Pliny the Elder too believed bees were born immaculately rising from the bodies of slaughtered calves and I wonder if neo-neo-classicists will prove Pliny right with the discovery of Astomi ——those … Continue reading you had your first psychotic break at seventeen

Us, in Element

Image: From Pixabay, thanks to JDGRAPHICS63 after Joan Miró & Surrealism Us, like Miró, spearing any stick-in-the-brush with a dance that won’t be classified. Rhythms and other elements of days fake familiarity. Only the birds hang upside down or float with ink-dipped feathers— carousels— in brilliant fields of blue blood. We’re clay forms sculpted to pillows by night: our faces hieroglyphs on a vase, with … Continue reading Us, in Element