WOW.
the dark slithers, betraying the scarlet moon
into the mellifluous hunger in each haze,
a new mother of spring,
the hills, the silence of untiring wanton blood
broken between each finger
and bone, nesting in the shadows in immense maddened breath
across the perennial wound that dispels
with the rain and alluvium
struck with the heavy winter, a shell to bind me to you,
in the slumbering absent whisper of humanity,
the vagrancy of a dream
I’ve held these dreams alone—fragmented in soulful waltz,
a footfall with death
in the bleak snow, forming a solitary fog
among the ocean lines—
living in the twilight and the marshes,
the dissonance of a dream;
overlooking the silence of solitude,
ecstasy of the shepherd’s song
of the sheep in the cypress shade
listening to the sacrifice of the portent
of the dark voice, midsummer,
frosted in a monody—of what remains, these ties are…
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