as the invitations dwindled i stayed in from the cold i lit a fire and watched until it burned to ash and pondered the sparks that may come to pass. 1.8.17

i stare at the flame as it licks the log it spits and crackles fire fingers grasp my mind wanders to what may come to pass while i watch the wood burn to ash 1.7.17

splintered into slender pieces, a taste, apertif of time divided in a tug of war with too many players my end of the week. 1.6.17

i walk along where vines hang low the moonlight shines the sea below steer my ship through choppy seas stockade of my speckled past with wounded ones unfit to last give fair warning when passing by i lick the honey off chapped lips and blow a kiss to opposing ships seek my lodestone with open …