Flowing is the tide to sink through the sands. Faster in speed. Slower in thought. Decisive in action.
A snort and puff;liquor pours outthrough pores, flushed and fierce,and steam fills the voidwhile clanks ring. A room of trials and tracks,of rattling vibrations,of echoes and shrieks, ecstasytests fate and temps fakefigures. Disfigure in darknessshifting with grunts and moans.Broken glass and swaying, numbing.No fierce burningdeep in flesh flakes and drops. Over-encumbered actand now lazy mirrorshide … Continue reading Figures
Words are wielded like torches,unintentionally hot,accidentally unconstrained,and hit patches of flesh we did not expect. I breathe fire without insult,singe discontent, unaware,and spread consequence,burning a hole in my confidence. Leave me ash and shame,and smolder with my sorrow,as a stare deep into the embers,red as all in sight. The wildfires are strong.Don't send me if … Continue reading Wildfires
Bodi opened his eyes. After a bright flash of light, objects came into focus. He saw the stone beneath him. He could feel the cool, wet touch, parts riddled with dampened moss. Further out, he made out the mouth of the cave, water pouring down the entrance from the darkness above. He began to make out shapes in front of him. A tall, dark figure stood at the mouth, tossing stones over the edge. Bodi remembered why he was here.
A shrine is a holy place. It is a place that is highly revered by a culture. It is a person of historical significance. It is a library that holds all the knowledge of the world. In this case, it is a relic designed to challenge.
Tell me where you've been and hold the key up
Don't look at your numbers, look at me and ask.
Here, inside, everything dies, neglect or not.
A porcelain jar of skeleton keys go to nothing, lost their use in time.
The red sun rakes the grass, caressing the metal holding the hefty tabletop desk, where he vigorously scribbles his visions on the paper, bowing and stretching to the breeze, held down by his left, pictures etched with his right. Lead whiskers coordinated on the page, his hand blends shapes in the page, morphed from ideas … Continue reading The Art Form of Envy