Sand witches, solar sisters, they are the west coast in this part of the cosmos, tied to the hip with American thighs and Brazilian otherwise, donning catamaran bottoms the color of red liquorice and snuggly they sit at their international dateline as if by magic
In the heart of darkness Is A delicate candle Fragile Way Down in the corner Waiting... Waiting in smallness Hoping to Light up The wick is burnt To a crisp Bring a knife... A gentle touch And some matches
the unspoken poems are the loudest the ones you don’t utter the times you don’t bother symphonies of silence votes of no confidence trust marbled with rust what's become of us?
In the end we are the sum total of the effort we invested, or conversely our failed deficiency in that regard. With no one to appreciate or blame, but ourselves.