john_silver
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My stories
X
Everything that falls falls in patterns amenable to an equal geometry of whose functions I know everything, or perhaps nothing. The object of descent...
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- 420 reads
IX
Stone and cathedral it is raining on your thin bridge clouds a procession the sky a great funeral of light. Midbridge my hands open I drop into the...
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- 287 reads
VIII
The artist's wrist does not shake or perhaps it shakes only on canvases past painting where the eye grows dim. I am no artist my wrists shake like a...
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- 329 reads
VII
Hold my hand the way you would a broken wing in its lines is a blueprint for writing and flying. I was volitant, I was free, so why these shackles...
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- 326 reads
VI
My love poems are paper boats of agony that voyage to a woman and back ferrying clotted chronicles of failure. I'm not here for chronicles but to...
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- 333 reads