Authorz: andrasidan

The organ player coats the covered ice and its fiercely skating combatants. What if it was Bach, with a fugal tune, that floated the demanding…

I dare not the looming shadows, the debris of yesterday and all gone, to follow me for too long. I touch the clouds and dance…

It was the mumbling late at night, the distant hum of indiscernible voices, echoes of old cars on wet streets and the memory of a…

No germinating spring time haste can compare to the anguish of leaving with dazzling daylight humming at the end of another coming. The soft earth…

Never call the raging fury of the night by the windy euphemism cessation dies to seed. When darkness enfolds all that you once did treasure…

I saw my sixtieth birthday fall into dark water-ring destruction where gulls and storms install their constant introduction. No herons ascend, nor heave with wet…

No wind of dark intention will trespass on my frozen lawn where I keep all eyes on sky and its see through emissary down here…

Time is no godmother of mine, nor any real comfort as night falls into barrels of smoked nothingness and all I have to show for…

She was just the voice to file the dark cabinet, the secret choice, pulling me like an electromagnet. It is but by the yearning we…

No justified outrage can compare with the choirs of longing that bleed their ethereal voices in solid lime. Ephemeral epistles of going through all that…

Yes to the invitation that rolls like a tease into my holding on to, yes to the acid anticipation, the tide that holds no fear,…

Who am I to rectify passed mistakes and wrong turns of anyone and you? Least of all if they are my own, shown in a…

The darkest hour glass recall, exhumed by the mirror night, not yet risen in the breeze horizon, feeds on anguish moon lost and the terror…

Part one There will never be a moment like this summer’s day I am. Chased, as I am, by blue skies, I continue to be…

I am a long time coming vessel I and I fill with visions of I and you. This is true, or must be, of whatever…

It is an ominous motion that lift sparrows from the ground, turning seekers to look for shelter. It’s the peripheral, the unexpected, that pertains to…

Who is it that walks down my frozen hollow with no time at hand and no eyes to spare? Acid oceans cringe and turn in…

So lost but not in fear I stretch for meaning and intent in days that constantly lace the present with all immediacy’s nerve, but sooner…