FirstBlog

my latest poem. Brief, yet packed with meaning. The Lies We Know Knowing lies told concurrent with the televisions’ three-piece suited viceroy. He with his news paper and faint red lipstick on his collar. She smelling of foreign cologne the original

With roars, crackles and pops it dances unevenly casting an orange glow tinged with blue. Consuming it's prey in a parasitical suicidal rage before settling into coals dying and leaving behind only ash. this was originally published on  my hub , back in November.