rEVolTinG
I shall revolt tomorrow. Today I softly seethe. Tuesday is earmarked For a raft of eye rolls. Midweek an exhibition …
Category Archives: Poetry – Iambic Rhythms from the Aether and the Cloud.
Where First We Met
An ode to survival stretched between two beings which resonates back and forth. It also doubles as a rope ladder …
Like a Frisbee, into the Lampblack Night
Ontogenesis I am cold, he said. Then wear me as a cape, she replied. And so he did, donning her, …
The Map
The Map His gaze traced the curve Of her concupiscent hip, Considering the swelling arc Of his own intentions as …
The Toll
The Cloud Speaks on the Subject of ‘The Toll’ The terrible life events we must all endure at one time …
The Pleas of the Bombinating Bees
If you found the wings story chewy, take a breath and suspend your belief (and suspenders in relief) yet further …
Rolling Up the Wall
The accumulator calumniator: A spender in dark mottled splendour Which has coined a thousand phrases Drops — never has it …
Mine
Mine. Step in for a moment, The time it takes, The multiple seconds (Perhaps repeated, If you’re feeling generous Or …
Topographical Depiction of the Heart
Ensnared . . . she gradually slowed to an oscitant still Midst the streaming and teeming of crowds that did …
High Solace Nation
A Cloud with a girl midst its mist Played isolative tunes and got pissed; Her pogo and wobble Could make …
To Trachea Illuminati
Rather than go dark, my muse decided (never asks Esme mind, just strikes when I’m not looking. Cheeky sod) to …
This Brutal Passion
Nostril flares pair with platform brows moshing in uniform parallel to sonic unison the admiration addicts perch all Parka’ed up …
Simulcast Fragment – 1825210005 – Lucian E. Fabble – The Ghost of Your Writer
The following letter and subsequent verses were found by rail guard Lucian E. Fabble on the first day of November …
The Hold
The Hold. My shipped mate — the swarthy book an’ ear, Nine tails whip from slide to schlong, Cat’s tongue-tied, …
The Ill-advised Musings of a Svengali Surgeon
He said . . . I will make you my Helen of Troy, dearest one, Disguise the crow’s …
