- Turning View this — she drew me from the window where the sea crashed senseless to cliffs weary and colors vibrant turned froth n’ foam — oh she squeezed my wrist thin fingers in a nervous grasp — we oh we oh we hold me close hand to hand cheek to chin sway ‘neath dusty crystal which twinkles with the light of night
we here, ‘till the world turns away and light bleeds the sky pink view this — she says — view this
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
much we — though words unsaid — must hold close oh, is it so much to draw a stray word or ask a fleeting thought — no , no not in asking only finding so I won’t ask and you never tell
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
- Knot i’ll not ask this string on my finger though it seems no where leads clip the ends tie tidings to new beginnings though though though fray here the endings strings to thread thread to fiber to the knot here and make it loose bound to my finger empty to heart
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
-Hazy There is a distance in which the earth turns patchwork and millions of lives become distant toys — so close that I could — brush this city — away — with the back — of my hand How frail it is the leaves are changing and home is colder than the land I left
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
- Dinner at Harry's Once, he said though crackle-popped teeth that we all (despite) blue-blood eyes and gray between our ears, want (that is) desire to have flesh between our teeth.
Though -- I think it should not be forgotten that -- as he let these words drip from his lips, a bowl of vine-y greens was spear jabbed into his grinding maw.
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
She spoke through crooked teeth - - of varnished dreams - and silver’d things - there she sits upon her tarnished throne -- a place to rest and be as one. Yet, she hopes by light’d work of godly glad tidings and rusted plasterwork -- that she shall be remembered - - as one who served the glass’ed throne - whose desperation was a thing of tribulation, and with her arms of knotted bone she stole the crown of soldier’d stone.
And the King shall weep for his age undone shall be remembered only as the time before the golden one.
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
She spoke to me -- with words like iron; coated in a golden residue -- and as I hold my hand to receive her I know she scorns the way I move - the words on my tongue - the curve of my lips.
She spoke to me -- of thistle and thorn -- though her words gilded, I knew I was torn.
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
a metallic whisper in stagnant air -- must and dust and the muffled creak of uneven footfalls -- dragging dragging across carpets of thread and holes
and in her lungs sour’d air and in hand a piece of rott’d wood and in eyes flurry of fears dilation -- devouring mind’s full reason
a wooden rasp-- of malintention -- steals from her all attention as senses strain to determine -- intent
in her grip -- wood rott’d by age and -- ravenous appetites of wriggling thing raised up -- slicing through the moment’s stillness
rust’d hinges croaked -- through the shatter’d frame the form spilt -- in her throat, she felt the swell -- in the air the shrillest yell down the rott’d stick swung what Silence lasted in those dust’d halls -- ended there
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
There is a flaw - in my thoughts - a blind piece - a chink I cannot - fill. And I fear - that knowing - of my failings will grant me nothing - against them.
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
She sits right there - with her auburn hair - and her golden stare - out upon the view. And in her hand -- she holds - the knife - just below - her - chin.
She pressed the blade - and with a grin - she allowed the - exacting edge - to slip right in.
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//