Poetry

did it hurt when tongues of fire landed on their heads ...

Blood streaks splatter across moonbeams like a pearl-string snatched from a virgin's neck ...

Pride be not death for as I've stretched to reach out from these brambles to cut away the vines about my ankles ...

My aunt told me I needed desert eyes to see the beauty in a cactus spike,

What kind of fool flings his wife to another man as if tossing a meaty shank to a drooling wolf, thinking that will cure its desire to devour the flock?

I play the part of an earthbound stone you the part of the moon ...

how hot it is on this bright summer day with crickets jumping in the grass ...

Beyond eager to bear witness to the miracle of compounding ...

As though Eve herself, in all her intricate glory electrified once again the rib ...