Tag Archives: Patrice M. Wilson

Sunset flings dark gods across the heavens, their alarm deafens churches, statue-full caverns echo darkness empty, deep yawns gaping black under the stars And the only act of love a shimmering around two asleep who seem always to touch alive, … Continue reading →

The whistle, the gong in your solar plexus sounds in bone, tingles in teeth. Styrofoam cups cease to come to your lips, coffee sips you, you tick like a clock, you are passing like time in an elliptical roundness shaped … Continue reading →

1. Old tree stump drifting in ebbing lagoon, tide’s out and winds blow over this watery dell, black as tar in the night, tipping against rock wearing down land’s life but keeping it afloat, smoothing ’til it’s sculpture. What hands … Continue reading →