poetry
I had nothing to give to that old woman. Who begs at the lights, She gave me instead, Embers and cinders; Decay and suffering; A life unredeemed; Infinite infamy and inquity, I have it all She gave me more, and old poem too. Yanked out like a spasm. A poem
poetry
Part 2 Or The First Zombie The bottomless pit Of content and horror Deterritorialising My eyes My mind. In the consummate fangs Of the fiddle device Everything is a spectacle A performance, a caprice His voyeuristic instincts Blindingly perverse Not unlike my doggerel verse. Every blade of grass Every drop
poetry
By the will of magick, I found myself in the company of a great old book. Signed anonymously, I decided to keep the name of the book anonymous too, for you, my brother, my sister. One day you will find it too, I pray. In that book was the art
poetry
Part 1 A New Age of Mystery is upon us. At the helm of this great cosmogony There will be new vanguards. At the pulpit of this hermetic church There will be new abbots. And in the dungeons from whence the rule emanates There must also be an Autarch. And
poetry
Part 1 Or The First Zombie Acamar, sitting at the bank Oblivious to the sound of water As the river stones sank In his hands was the demon's device A black slab for slaughter Slithering through every crevice. He saw in it, the lives of others A hundred
noema
Here is my first book. Noema - Spaces of Refuge. Some things cannot be put in to words. This is one of them. I have put together my poems and photographs, a harmony of my two passions. A window in to each other, and in to me. Some things cannot