Thirteen Shapes – Part 9

Old tobacco stained beetle wings : Birthed from fingers cracked and aged Their mother hand gripping cards : Around a table drenched in time Eyes glazed over with whiskey dreams : And long since passed escapades Three alone with empty stares : Each in a world dead, gone Drowned in a central Nothingness : This...

Thirteen Shapes – Part 8

The great honeybee exodus was short I stood on the fountain’s edge A podium from which I would deliver their sentences With neither a word nor simply gesture, they returned Attentive and embracing they gazed into the mechanical eye (Address to the Honey Bees) This face you see is not painted on You...