This is the story of cracks that itch and swell around the edges, they are a nighttime pestilence; an insomnia riddled with undoing and redoing. Beneath them glows something though, something that is always making stronger the healed cracks: I have been whipped apart by the storm, a tough ride and I never do not know who can see Is ….
Category: Pagan Poetry
Drowsy words lifted against a predawn sky, which is pregnant and may at any moment break; rivulets of cantaloupe and rasp- berry and all shades of ripened fruit. (The moon a photocopied ghost in The forgotten part of the sky.) Or the dim gray cast may latch on, misting red and orange leaves holding on in defiance of winter. It ….