thrift store angels & cast away saints watched from dark, shadow clotted alleys. we felt their eyes, burning globes that did not dwindle or diminish come the rains. a cold, dead stone rose stiff in the sky carrying upon pock marked shoulders an immense burden of time. the great eye in the night firmament could not see us as we stole away to our own murky corners, on the fringes of dim light mirrored & transported across the void. with what care we were placed here, i thought, with such alacrity of our dependence upon light. a holy thing, its absence refulgent amidst the blackest of our dreams, the ghastliest of faces astride tireless ebony steeds whose whinnies & snorts so sharply supplant us from slumber...
























ae.