Then came
a suffocating wind
too stifling for the eyes --

the sweat drips, the
intentions melt into drenched
granite slits(like tangible earth,

embedded bones in cheeks) --

he crumbled just a little more each

time, the crevices fading,
deeper chips and cracks

ripping like lead
across white;

her forehead stretched,
moss grows from her lips --

lilting jaw-lines become
cardboard, skin turned to
ash.

he was a

Mouth, gaping vast and split
like a chasm of dark peeled back from
a concealed truth -
he was a man, but
is he human? Or simply
essence of flesh and dust, closely packed into a
sudden jar of

empathy?

an untimely shield,
arrows like sentiments bouncing

off surfaces
in slippery unison --
the glass in the hall,

the primordial face
of lost misinterpretations
left behind.

the performer lies

and lies
on the pit stomach of absence -
away from the lies,

away from the
green guilt, the guilty shame.



the world was a Masquerade,

his time a Tempest,
a red river glowing in the dream of an ember,
the veil of a life

enshrouded in
remorse.


the anger remote,
the fading sounds of crashing

distance in the
chalk feelings of her
burden -
all were futile,

like a dream forgotten in
the sand.