You Are At The Archives for July 2012

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Ant Hill


Ant Hill

Puffing out of
Parted lips,
From fingertips
It rises like a white
Flame,

Weak kings reign
Hanging thin in
The chapel,
While snapshots
Of memories appear
Heaven-sent,

Back bent
Paid rent—
For the week

When sweet gestures
Seem steep,
You act upon instinct
Skin on skin
As animals would say
Utter words of

Hunger with
Raven black lives
Spider-leg knives
Standing in the
Deep end,
Sporadic waves

Crash upon
Each other—
Slowly.


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