what giving creature is this

something like a whispered song

Tuesday, October 30, 2018

the truth about trust

my natal fear is that of being prised apart with the economy of wind against october leaves. when she departs the bedroom my hands occupy themselves with the salt of her gone flesh; while in the forest, at night, trees are made recumbent following the swift ejaculation of windy-ice. the moss and earth, exposed at her felling, are flipped up and fanning; this alluvial, dark spread confronts the fool whose curiosity after the storm took him to...