Comments Posted By batteryman

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watch for sharp edges. limbs dangling over the phantom ridge.
below, the fires dance, bare their teeth. the night grows cold.
the moon becomes a frozen silver for the wolves to gaze at.

» Posted By batteryman On 06.10.2018 @ 4:35 pm


underneath the last dove’s curtains,
the still pulse of a why.
the tao of the rushing water underneath the dancing lily,
underneath the flesh and bones that tie all things together.
the song that has no name or beginning
the sparrow’s eye waiting
beneath the curve
of the hours

» Posted By batteryman On 06.08.2018 @ 3:37 pm


the flower opened every week.
petals unfolding, golden memory.
morning circled around to devour the evening.

» Posted By batteryman On 06.01.2018 @ 7:39 am


the statue on the pedestal. glinting, false brass.
the sun broken across its brow.
galvanized, waiting. a sword raised in its hand.

» Posted By batteryman On 05.27.2018 @ 7:16 am


drag queen, neon lipstick, heels to drive a stake through a heart.
she took a drag on the cigarette. the smoke hangs languidly over her head.

» Posted By batteryman On 05.24.2018 @ 5:39 am


the engine is fueled by blood and forge.
metal rictus bared in a triumphant snarl.
the dogs are coming. the hounds are roaring down the mountains.
the old folks groan. the children fear to fall asleep.
and the twisted husks of dwellings lay in its wake.

» Posted By batteryman On 05.22.2018 @ 7:22 pm


a tossed spark, the galvanized spaces in between the seconds.
lightning ran down the hills. copper glinting in the aftermath.

» Posted By batteryman On 05.20.2018 @ 6:42 pm


the bundle of old rags languished by the stairs.
motionless, though the city hummed around it.
it slept, uncaring and unseen.

» Posted By batteryman On 05.19.2018 @ 6:16 am


lost within the swamp, staggered, limbs hanging against sides,
the way marred with bloodied feet
and the darkness broken across his brow
and the endless forest with its maw opening
in wait

» Posted By batteryman On 05.18.2018 @ 4:34 am


the water is clear, sings a song of alabaster on his cracked lips
recalling to his mind the memory of choirs, the memory of voices, primordial and diluvian as the Fore,
the memory of the abandoned footsteps of

» Posted By batteryman On 04.28.2018 @ 8:24 pm

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