Four Seasons:
Furled death reaped from lands of war
Crackling and cackles in the twilight
Eyes dilated…your bitter hickey burns
Raw curt smog felling my wooded lungs
While pierced kayaks burst plunging us
In congealed tainted bloody tributaries
Through long rapids reaching my basin:
The rife perpetually softly beaten echo.
I long for your morning sighed coughs
I long for your evening waltzed weeps
I long for your yellowed tang and sex
I long for your grubby smells weaving
My sweater worn like a shrinking sheath
While April’s cruelly growing and sowing
Phlegethonian heat traverses and scalping
Readying for fall
Scared these fallen colours
Are my last
AWAKE! COLD.
I embrace the cold duvet
Lying by frozen embers
Wrought on oaken skeleton
Ashen embraces guide me
Away..,
ether writes 