What did you know of the darkness of god’s plan? Or how the flesh is so frail it is hardly more than a dream.

Now call down your dark and your cold and be damned.

In dreams his pale bride came to him out of a green and leafy canopy.

At a crossroads a ground set with dolmen stones where the spoken bones of oracles lay moldering. No sound but the wind. What will you say? A living man spoke these lines? He sharpened a quill with his small penknife to scribe these things in sloe or lampblack? At some reckonable and entabled moment? He is coming to steal my eyes. To seal my mouth with dirt.

perhaps beyond those shrouded swells another man did walk with another child on the dead gray sands. Slept but a sea apart on another beach among the bitter ashes of the world or stood in their rags lost to the same indifferent sun.

Occasionally i dabble in book cover design. This is a villiard diagram mixed with a golden ratio grid, set in univers 55. 

What will you say? A living man spoke these lines? He sharpened a quill with his small pen knife to scribe these things in sloe or lampblack? At some reckonable and entabled moment? He is coming to steal my eyes. To seal my mouth with dirt.

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

a long shear of light and a series of low concussions

The sweeping waste, hydroptic and coldly secular.