Treacherous beauty. The sky hanging above me like a moth eaten blanket. In the empty depths I detect pools of tourmaline: bottle green, rose, lush pink fruits.
The shy moons suckling the horizon are named for some poor demigods. How the hero cast them off, ignoring their misery, and in pity they…
Reminder to check out manymistypes, a poetry month blog I’m doing with some other talented folks. Our challenge is to write a poem per day.
There’s some good reading, and maybe some inspiration for sketches in there.