uttering goodbye, not a word spoken. passing like arthritic memories into an impassive night. dull ache, throbbing in the tender bones of a lonely soul. a quiet agony, written on a pale face wracked with demons. each reflection given a name and lodging. a heart divided, unable to stand. torn, stolen by the wind.
Tag: Rift
Against the Fissure
join hands grip tight while the ground splits – the rift expands splintering tectonic weight rumbling in low register roar – rolling ‘neath uncertain feet piling a coil of rough hewn ribbon erecting new rock faced monuments against the pressure – perhaps if we can hold on long enough we can weather the changes before…
Piecework Prose 