Old man Unable. Pestered by Superfluous. Organs That song Should persist He insists Is Preposterous. #poem #poetry

Umin shook his woolly head to clear out the lingering rattle in his brain-box, before gingerly padding forward. The faint fire-gleam grew achingly in breadth and height. No longer a mere pricking but a

Steemit continues to burgeon, attracting users from all around the globe. Many of these users have inspiring ideas. But they often struggle to express their work, as non-native English speakers. Towards

The expanse above an inky unknowable depth, the way forward narrow.  Umin spreads his arms wide and warily. Soon finding the rough-smooth, like glass resolved once and hardened again, walls with the

I want him Father. Let me… The half-spaces between waking and drifting where things sonorous and frightful came to murmur. Hours compressed. Umin slept. Oh, the chime is ringling. Oh... Awakening. To find

Sonorousness is Salt. The weight of Despond Upon the Neck of a Brooding Cello. #poem #poetry

Brooding Plow-dung autumn Dryness of Sphagnum. Dream of Desert-tongues Ginger-sweet Crease of Star-anise. A Bedouin Coffee-service. #poem #poetry

Bestir me. The alchemy Of aliphatic Amines. Seminal Spermidine Unwinds. Cerement-string Putrescine. #poem #poetry #biochemistry

Sing-song mockery. Close now, little fingers like gleaming bloodless alabaster curled through the sandy-russet chain-links of his prison.  Chin perched playfully on a long cross-bar in the manner

Something small and shapeless twists out of the dark, falling near to hand with a sick softness. A blot of blackness against the black. Oh, sweet. A little scantle of rough meat. Oh, wrapped in a rat-skin

A thigh Past. Still linger in Pillow-rinds. As musk-mellow Heat. #poem #poetry

Eyes, wide and glistering like pools of cracked glass in the tepid light of a single sorry lamp. Taunting with a tin-hollow laughter as it spun away into the deepness. Leaving him struggling between arousal

Once it came wearing red. Incarnadine like freshly spilled heart-blood, still warm from the wound. Most often it moved here and there in flowing cloth of silken coal. In black cord, bitumen colored ribbons

Little-boy. With finger-breadth Sores. Sees Scores of Coal-dusk Pendulous Portal-doors. Everywhere. #poem #poetry

We begin. With Kaolin. The brooding Belly of the Coal-fire Kiln. Kneading, plying A baser thing Into perfuméd Pastel Porcelain. #poem #poetry

Instead he moves to face the wall and tepid trickle of water, ruefully gnawing at the crust of his last black-seed cake. Trying to remember how many days had receded since his descent into the Shallows.

Oh, Little Basket, Oh, In a Little Orchard, My Little Petal. Oh, in a Little Basket, The Little Pin-Man a Little Hen He Poached... Another pause and a stillness belied only by the sifting of some nearby

Potter's whisps. Nameless-unknowing Things Burnt to Crackling. This glistering Cinching The sanity Of sand-glass. #poem #poetry

A kernel of Rue. Bitter-leaf Curls and licks At the tips And tears of My little Eternity. #poem #poetry

Do you like lullabies? She taught me one, or two... There follows a breath, a pause like poison honey waiting to drip slow from the cusp of a spoon. Its voice is sweet and spare. Both queerly alluring