red velvet muck

my God, how
deep was my
blood sown?

far from
sun and sound,
no echo no
not a breath no
tear

i am the red
velvet
muck
strewn soft so
far below.

blue-kissed green

the blue-kissed
green feathers to the
sun I
grow and grieve

the son's
body to the sun, the
lover's filament
sewn into the North and
South, the blue-kissed
green wreath to wax and
wane

a ghost whispers to the
sky and winks, the
blue-kissed green
goodnight barely a
grumble to the
sun in slumber.

[ Photo taken by Dani Hurt / www.danihurt.com ]

everything has been said

your words the
Earth beneath my
feet, your tone the

truth is taught by
your tongue the
spring-spit
glistening quiet on my
left cheek,

everything has been
said; chestful or
fistful i blue and
pale.

twenty-seven hunters
scramble along my scalp

twelve or so cold leads;
shadow and rind, infected
follicles

twenty-seven hunters
snagged beneath my
fingernails

working life

we are
beautiful until we
hang

the space between our
toes and the
ground is what
puffs round the
sky’s edge

while the world
spins, what we
were will
sway

the sun will
leave to set–our
daytime design
to decay with
dusk

dipped red from

dusk's fire, all

winter long an

upward reach

will you sky

forever?

your burnt fingertips

dim brown,

nothing remains.