Written July 20, 2020 these are the days that green leather crumbles soaked in somber serendipity plastic smiles dripping darkness coincidentally the moth grows weaker as it nears the light there is irony in this reality so close and yet so far from this gray stolidness the shell of truth Blue Tides © Safira Schiowitz
Written July 20, 2020 D. Reams he smiles she sighs time spirals there lies the pest atop the desk indeed it seems you’re in my dreams he tilts his head she sits instead but still through swill the time it drains insane the wind can’t stain they stare the pair they love above no matter the flatter the love remains D. Reams © Safira Schiowitz
Written July 18, 2020 lady midnight with her weary arms spreading lavender luminescence across that vast moonbeam jungle lady midnight with her guarded kingdom crags smoothed with silken fingers what secrets dance in your pale eye sweet lady midnight? you slip silent into dawn leaving crows to mourn your passing Lady Midnight © Safira Schiowitz
Written June 15, 2020 Nothing and everything changed there, where the wind lamented in whispering melodies isolated and harmonizing in the canyon’s jagged corridors. The desert was expansive—pockmarked here and there by dusty shrubs resembling stationary tumbleweeds. There was a tree on the edge of the canyon. Its bare branches were stiff and brittle, the thin bark slowly being sloughed away into the rapids below by the stinging wind. Spindly roots gripped weakly at the sand, which slid between or…
Written June 19, 2020 a father knows for certain that life’s curtain has been closing as he (foolishly) lay dosing so he (rightly) teaches his son how life must be done he declares with some flares of his noticeable nose hairs: men tout mustaches and women eyelashes arsonists learn to be is to burn clothes are not worn when babes are just born now my son you are wise! I await my demise the son quite confused and not quite amused wonders: however will I…
Written June 19, 2020 there is a world where shadows move sundials and the ignorant fall into an easy rhythm where colors are mixed by unworthy hands on weak pallets into paste that is palatable where bravery is pixilated and thoughts are made two dimensional where truth is found trembling beneath a rock and so the beat rolls on as the world tips precariously resting gracefully on invisible madness Myopic Scope © Safira Schiowitz
Written June 19, 2020 there is perfection in the inchworm who crawls beneath the turmoil of the battlefield he expands as ruby encrusts emerald as fang meets shield as metal crushes bone he contracts as towers topple as dirt blinds as light sees sound in that special moment when eyes acknowledge ears the inchworm curls into half an infinity for it is wise The Inchworm © Safira Schiowitz
Written May 2, 2020 Jack Gould yielded to time and space. That was all he could do. Allow himself to be absorbed into insignificance, irrelevance, a void of meaninglessness. He stared at his thumbs. There was nothing spectacular about them. They were attached to his hands, which were intertwined and resting on the table at which he sat, the heat and clamminess creating a thin film of condensation on the cold surface. Why he stared at his thumbs, he did…
Written May 5, 2020 on the trellisof the minddrips perfumefree of firefetid dust it waftswith pure wonder rich entitiesstop servingaqueous syrupto the masses search inburnt turretsstoop lowin long meadowscast notthe shadowthat leads to the devil Journey © Safira Schiowitz
Written April 10, 2020 weeds thrash gentlyspecks of light dancingaround my kneesworn with dustwebbed patternsthe plumbs ruby in that golden waya fly leads my eyesto the lesser tearsof life the weeds thrash gentlyspecks of light dancingaround the webbed patternsof the plumbs rubyin that way of rotshining bright in death i say to the plumbin my living waywe have the same pulsethat integral juiceof life Weeds © Safira Schiowitz