Death May Be The King Of Terrors

Each brush stroke of a word painter

Smeared bloody crimson red

Seen through eyes that recognise

The things that can’t be touched

Behind accumulated layers of gore

Where shadows are the surface

What is felt is hidden behind

What is seen 

So your mind fills in the gaps

gives corporeality to the phantom

even as the scalpel ni...

Read and leave comments (0)

The Trade Name.

When the green fairy

kisses my lips

with sweet anise,

I take the grand wormwood path

just for jolly, wouldn’t you?

Cachous,

to mask her breath

of juniper.

A road

to mothers ruin.

The gas-lit fog

cloaks the backstreet

opiate dens,

where wretched

addicts lie.

Pastry faced women,

lifting ski...

Read and leave comments (1)