Poetry Blogs (poet)
The aged book filled with leaves turns to unveil a man, Atlas-like – bowed, broken, & torture racked on a wooden frame. In the book, crushed down and up again.
Millions say the words live. Entertain, and watch stony hearts become flesh. Others blame. And this way, remain the same: habitations of corpses. Who, rather than listen, rage. Saying the book’s aim is insane. Thus, death’s reign is...
Tuesday 26th January 2021 4:41 am