

ExhaleThis tired; lanky and thinning.Exhale
The time of day endlessly rote, excess for the willing. The apples scattered across my table fallen from window sills and still the pipes freeze, the music plays silly. The slow autumn, careless
casts leaves long and slumbering. Too long, and I am weeping and they are yielding their skinny rusted veins spitting and splintered,
offer up to me in some type of worship, and join together vein to vein pale faded reds patchworked and quilted,
blossoming something worthwhile in death from naked t


TroddenI was taught to love the root and the branch, to swallow the sun and walk on leaves, far from themselves, dead and trodden. I exist, I am large, I am the low rolling fog, passing,Trodden
choking back your future, holding in a tide of creation. Clawing it back. For the time is not right, the season is not ready. Though I follow the wind, god knows of trees, he left the leaves to me.


A White Feeling in the Middlecurtains at twilight,A White Feeling in the Middle
a days fortune framed against tomorrows torture
and the smoke knows
and the mist laughs
and lingers in my lungs like a ghost from a dream
who imagines never not shifting, slipping like the gravel from my feet
to the outer regions
of a footstep of a handprint
to the lonesome expanse
of strained matter.


Obstinate NightThe yawing of jaw bones; a deep furrow on your devotion, and still the yawing.Obstinate Night
It thickens my night with banshee's blood, frozen in night winds,
it creeps from church steeples, warm viscid embrace. Born of your own importance and love's impalement. I see old things, metal clocks mixing with manacles, gasping a rusty mix, seething powder like fireworks.
Grotesque,
squirming beneath the flame,
childish and callow.
--
~zler
You're using Canon Powershot A10 on the ID!?
Have fun & ENjoy,
Maya.
--
The fact that no one understands you, doesn't make you an artist.
--
~zler
--
Literature Gallery Moderator
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