Heart in England

I had a heart when I was in England Heart in England, morning runs through cemeteries racing with Mary's ghost, merging with the mist amongst the cenotaphs, vaporous fingers tracing ancient names on leaning tombstones, and tracing sweat along my chest as this American boy pumped legs round and round, lighter then, lithe even, leaping … Continue reading Heart in England

Eh…

These things I warrant, and see, these ghosts, aspirations and hopes these fading things. My eyes, in a cracked mirror. This ghost, clattering... I talk so fucking fast. A poet of listicles. Shallower than Plath. No clue where my inner Prufrock sits. As if there could be another... Failure, to be clear, bounced repetitive, just … Continue reading Eh…