we don't get
better
there is no
getting better
we just hurt
a little less
and what is more
explodes
like a dying star
and what is
dead
keeps dying
This poem was previously published in the chapbook 'The Streetlights are Beckoning Nirvana' (Analog Submission Press)
cloudburst symphonies fall like soft rain, receding into submission, closed curtain secrecy. a black fly s t r e t c h e s a wing a wing. shadows betray the unseen, I stagger towards the light
writing is an unburdening of the soul. a total release. a rebellion against control. often a painful process. an act that brings with it fear and the unknown. an explosion. delayed gratification. a my
there comes a time when we have to face ourselves. to face our demons. confront our mortality. in a cage. under the lights. or on a stage. at knifepoint. we are tested. we will be tested. when there