Sleep Till Death

Striking from hell’s angry grave,
We are aloft the white peaks of a mad sea.
While shells of skulls and earth remain,
The flesh of bone perishes amid the furry.

The Birthplace

You are as in a magnolia
amidst a great burst of thunder;
the power to stand still.
No breeze of wind
but your breeze is far greater.

The earth set in motion
by a ravenous sea,
foaming rivers of an eminent flood.
The ocean breathes, shivers and continues.
You are so endlessly submissive,
drawn to a destiny staying aware
of a sea’s grievous.

Edible flowers withstand
the hard crash of arterial water,
gathered in eternal vessels
so that those imprisoned
by October’s arrogance,
may be given your lucid wave.