- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Silent Land
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From a crowstone and a strange season,
scudding the straits of lucid dreaming,
past and future intertwine
in a fey danse bereft of reason.
Wafted on a silken, sullen breeze,
the scent of rain on hot concrete.
Bare trees with splintered branches;
shadows crawling through vagrant streets.
Weeds crowding razed, corroded husks;
blackened doors and broken mirrors
casting prismatic reflections.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Rent banners now somber palls,
bones bleaching in the noonday sun:
flotsam on the shores of time.
The Silent Land, it waits for all.
*The use of "danse" was intentional.
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