12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice



he said all the right things, and
as though flicked from the ear of a cloud
phix fell for moments
mourned only the hours
given to waiting
knowing the stretch in such loss
the clock’s tick a slight rue only
in her lionheart

she crashed
and it was archaeology that made her cry
scattered at her elbows
all those pottered parts and painted corners
pretty bones and trinkets
that stayed on
without heed to their civilisations
those pinprick flares
in and out
at the vanishing point

and there he was
from far above her
he peered
his eyes and irony converging
dusted his hands
the particles between them
like starlings loose in sinews of sky
ink in water

and she, below
his event horizon
to him, feline pulp and feathers
even as she smoothed the kitten-down behind her ears
brushed from her wings the theben sands
and a thousand thousand years of ridicule
fate is lovely-faced she thought
and while he swaggered
phix ambled
towards the renaissance
and other thresholds


sant'antimo abbey

Tell me wotcha reckon

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This entry was posted on June 27, 2013 by in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , .

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