My Blue
no-one hears red as you your singe is not my singebut all things burn but if you’re willingif you’re willingto speak into tonguesall yellow and viper orange and if I…
Poetry by Devon Brock
no-one hears red as you your singe is not my singebut all things burn but if you’re willingif you’re willingto speak into tonguesall yellow and viper orange and if I…
On a day unlike ours — how many hourson a string loose strung does our starling love pulsebetween a pair of paper cups — You, over there, not far,but further…
I findnot many lighters and too many cheap shades,laid against a loose-hinged trifocal,Expensive, lost and necessary,upon the flip-top notebookbound with crushed spiral wire,And within, the gibberishof a young girl’s day…
Which river to cross –The shallow brook of faith,Tepid in the slow run to God, orThat which drains into the oily pitsOf loss, tormented though aliveIn sure and certain combustion?…
For what, then, do we trodThe husks of dead men,And for whom?Is it the trinkets improved?For we are no larger than the beast –And there the judgement – the beastThat…