Oracle of Sullen Reverie

Murmurs in the daytime speck,

kaleidoscopes and swirling strings of otherness

summoning the rising of the abeyant armies

through the yearning veils into the chamber

of nestling consciousness.

~*~

Murmurs in the air,

spectacles of colours and silhouettes

dancing ‘fore the heart whose river has run

into the high seas with nothing more

than the tearing love for the Black Star

which underlies the theatre’s spotlight.

~*~

Murmurs murmuring ever

the disavowal of tales oozed from opiate crevices

of malison and true derangement.

Murmurs of the innate throne

which hand pries open the torture room of sol.

Murmurs, quiet memories of dusk –

the revelry of Soul bleeding art

into the listless ball of fleshy command.

Impressions of Dust and Smokeless Fire

Pinnacles hold the stage for the bright moon as the rocks cast a shadow upon the shore. The salty waves caress the sand —warm still— on which I sit. The invisible flute rattles the fiend in me who dares to feel, bidding me to relive a romance buried in the dunes of a far away land. But what fate does this love hold for one such as I? The snake charmer portends the essence suppressed by ages of dense life. The sleeping sorrow dreams reveries of blood and daylight, yet the observer holds no memory of that which came to pass.