Ice edged wind on a tooth's frayed nerve
panic of God on a pounding tongue
hammering somewhere inside the head
the anvil flesh absorbing pain.
God is buried
though God has won,
the Devil's lost
though the devil's loose.
All the world is racked with pain.
Decay is silent in the tooth
the eyes are blind
the flesh is vain -
while a terminal nerve,
bared to the wind,
shoots sparks of ice at the sun.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
Hello everyone who follows David King (My Father). On behalf of the family this post is to let you know that Dad sadly passed away, peacefu...
Tom Lubbock, writing in The Independent (friday 15 May 2009) returned to the age old topic of censorship in the arts. Well, in painting act...
This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reade...