I feel ink-stains and paper-blooded
clacking keys like elephant-tusked saliphites
riding white stags through empty steppes
curved blades born high above riots
wildflowers bloom in wakes, born again
in salty spray, upon tsunamis back
that beast, that child draped in red
given to flames, cajoling ancient infernos

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *