seeking a stop making sense
to snail ride a razor’s edge
staccato clipped my words trip
under themselves again
these old ones do not care
for your piety, no
they want to embrace storm
clacking bones trice
can you hear gates?
hear gates
share:
seeking a stop making sense
to snail ride a razor’s edge
staccato clipped my words trip
under themselves again
these old ones do not care
for your piety, no
they want to embrace storm
clacking bones trice
can you hear gates?
share:
2 responses to “hear gates”
There’s something beautifully disorienting about this Michael, like slipping into a dream just as the storm breaks. And those “old ones”… they don’t want quiet devotion, they want thunder. Interesting the gates, the bones (love the image), it all echoes like a warning and a welcome. Stunning in its refusal to explain. Hmm..
🧡
For several years now, I’ve been trying to capture a more visceral writing style, migrating away from a expositional “telling” towards a more evocative exploration of language. I hope it works at least occasionally.
Thank you very much, Mae 💙