A Song So Loud

A Song So Loud

It’s no use to stoke the coals of my discontent with the damp leaves of weak desires. My prayers are not the incense in its swirling ascent; they are the sticky haze of the still-green brier’s blaze, and I am smothered in the smoke. I long still to be...
The View From Winter

The View From Winter

By some unjust miracle I awoke again today. How? When the wasted days and hours accumulate like a grey cloak of soot-heavy snow; the sweet-sick malaise sticks and smothers me. Regret, my old friend, tucks me to sleep under these covers, while, minute-by-minute, the...