The Captain And The Tempest

“Either we live in peace, or we have no life worth living,” said the Captain as he returned, wearied by a tempest of stinging verse. I remember the tattered sky that morning, faces littered with snows of sepia frowns, smiles trodden into ruin. Sun-polished, the horizon quickened light across the red blade of its rim,

Antichrist

Did they bring us to our knees -our whispered testimonies- or did they stay within the armour of our eye mist menaced lakes our minds ploughed clutched the drowning scowls light stretching shadow -empty cries- in darkness weighting Longinus’ mercy -antichrist- rots in the wound a burden of wormwood will bend our necks unbend our

Every Sorrow Seeks Its Source

These days unfold skins of steel silks of flame another struggle another name to serve the granite gallows. Breath that weary crown risen from sloped brows whose eyes graffiti corrugated waters an autumn of gold clinging to its dead.