Black is all
all dirt,
rat pitch in soul tar.
Dark corners
corner all,
shrouded ribs in glass shadow.
Cold in mourning
bittersweet the memory song,
love hard
until the day folds.
Tanned eyes
milk lips,
beyond the veil
on bat lung horizon.
The dead are not
burning stars,
or satisfied in stone.
In the ground
the maggot is king…
@Steven Francis poems 2009
The 3rd Collection from Welsh poet Steven Francis. More Song, less Blood but the laments are always the same....
About Me
- Steven Francis
- I started writing in school and discovered it was the only thing that could hold my interest (apart from sex). I knew from the lump inside me that some creative channel had to be my direction. And be good or bad it is some kind of legacy.
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