Tag Archives: long-form poetry

II. The Feint

In a world that is not quite mudluscious[1] Ten bound of pages gray, By the window there they lay. She stares longingly at the other nine, But only one will open itself to her. A crumbling egg-timer waits for its purpose To slip through the air, Through those aged fingers and into the fog, Into read more »

I. Circling the Heavens

This sun shall only melt as the former has. Enjoy these harrowing sights while one can. All one can do is wait for the calm then, eh? I might as well pluck that lemon drop from the sky and pop it into my salivating mouth. I may suck from it the flavor of flame that read more »