poetry readings have to be some of the saddestdamned things ever,the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,week after week, month after month, yearafter year,getting old together,reading on to tiny gatherings,still hoping their genius will bedi...
A crimson path led me to delusional arts,
The swing of justice hoaxed me,
As human tortured their faith in gyves
To welcome torched Justice to vacancy.
Thy couch - theurgy, panoply - art.
Tell, prophecy’s curse or merit?
Or prophesier’s metamorphosis int’ archer?
In names of whose mourns thou hear.
Bestowed to meet thou, dear guest, so,
Thy experience’s fettered to betray,
Be prophecy-pursue to pulse the other gate,
If thou trudge thy vice to confess,