hope (Remove filter)
Wilting soul
Spiraling down into heaps, ragged and gray, cracked crockpot hip sway
How many times a day do the flies find dead lips
Violence equips violence, self perpetuated static hate
Powers of state observed through grates, through threadbare shirts as they disintegrate
Inflating the lie, runflat tires crushing thighs, for his mom he cries
How do your eyes hold dripping pitchers back, how much empathy...
Thursday 25th June 2020 5:09 pm
Recent Comments
Holden Moncrieff on Not Every Eye
34 minutes ago
Holden Moncrieff on Better Sight...
2 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on 'What can writers and poets possibly do in the age of Trump, Farage and Starmer?'
2 hours ago
Mike McPeek on Civilities
3 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on EVEN THE OLIVES ARE BLEEDING
4 hours ago
John Marks on EVEN THE OLIVES ARE BLEEDING
4 hours ago
Hélène on Better Sight...
4 hours ago
Hélène on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
4 hours ago
Nigel Astell on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
6 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Where is THIS Jerusalem?
6 hours ago