Subterranean

Whether sharing your body or changing your views, the blind mole of magic is following you; In the cubicle days or the tropical nights, what exists in the shadows remains hidden from sight; Clutching those hands filled with fabric or fame as you place them in pockets...

Scale

Ragged cuticles rim blunt fingers familiar with soil dug up in clinkers and clumps; was it turned over to bury tree stumps, posts from railroad iron serving as clothesline poles strung end to end with necessary garments scrubbed on a board, set in crude concrete mixed...

Relics

We all die. Relics left behind for others, once culturally defined, a slurry now of overcooked vegetables in the melting pot of what humanity has become; For better, we are more homogenous, conferring fewer reasons to hate that which is and ever was kindred. Knowing...