a couple of quiets son, it couldn’t get much louder unwinding these young fellah’s pride of the south proud as punch with tattoos so bright still fresh like they came down in the last coast town shower as they raise pool cues exalt quiet ones to mouths that once nuzzled a mothers breast –…
Month: July 2016
BOOMERANG
Figure’s in the dust. Indiscretion walks aloft, rippling ghostly In the spirit That the head, less even, was A step too heavy. Mine, or theirs? The giggle rolls… it stops. It’s caught Without the knowledge in how clever it was tossed. © A2Kdavis (K Davis) 2016
I Wish
Don’t get me started, he said, on doctors and teachers, and he took in his breath. Bloody useless, he said. And exhaled. It was all he could do: breathe, have a good rant. His legs were shot, not his mind. The eyes blazed with knowledge. And life. Bloody life. Lot of fuss, really. You live….
I am
I am fire I try to burn my way home I see nothing but the trail of embers in my wake I understand I can supposedly grow and nourish things in the ashes I explore this possibility tenderly yet I am fire I feel the sorrow of things that could have never been and the…
heroes yet
Who cares if the Monk or the Militant masturbates, or Hemmingway’s hand hesitates half way between life and death? These men are heroes yet.
Early Loss
The street is small-town grey. Doors closed. Shuttered. Peeling signs peeling. Grimy windows. Hand-prints, smudged. Sauce. And blood There are no specials. Not today. Not now. There are ghosts, too. Of the workers. They came here from school. All new cellphone and gel. On a minimum wage. Remember, he said: finish the deal. Yeah. Nah….
Fibre-Optics, My Dear
they clung together in bolsters like oblique trajectories as finely woven splinters, creeping – slighted bound, mingling with damp, atop algae covered stone gloriously sated, in silent hues of ochre tincture now burnished bold with fine alluvial dust came quietly sweeping, with haste – upstream where crepuscular nocturnes of…
Rattle, Roll
The train’s call is a thin pre-dawn bellow. It slides up a riverbed slick with rain and secret in mist. There is the urgency of momentum – thrum of diesel ever more strident as a rise steals the power. No passengers, just a driver in a room of iron, eyes following a yellow beam. It…
from: Love The Word Feeling Actual
Prelude . . . . . . . . . History: is guessing what was left out who knew the secrets and who had the clout. History: is running back to where you came why prophets and profits sound alike. History: is written words sealed to their shape but you know by looking where the…
Songbird Why You’ll Never Sing
Part 1 I sent you a letter last night in my dream Deemed to never arrive Captured by hook of my bed post A moonlit message of hope Heaven in a wild flower Fragrance rare The ink on the parchment Scatter a tale of love and hope Empty in such a confined space You are…
3rd sonnet
The eternal lines live still, but the boy, where does he dwell, the young man with a face more fair than any girl, and with more grace than a princess royal, endowed for her joy? His eyes like the blue rounded heavens shone for some one unbounded love, but not you; and you loved…
Keeping in Touch
i got your message this morning – it rattled these eyelids in a bird song hour, and needless to say, the weather’s picked up in such timely fashion – taken a turn for the better well I’m sure you’d agree, the old boards could do with running repairs – a new coat of paint…