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Complex Texture

I hear the sound of crumbling bone

The vultures breath is warm however laboured

It's thoughts are tunnelled... savage.

Feinding, forlorn and floating.

The blurring smell of blood and innocence,

A blinding sense of disorder.

Who knows better the sensation of nature?

Not I,

For I am ecstatically preoccupied.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 


It caught my attention. Sad to see this as your only post over so many years. I hope you post again.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Thanks for your feedback Mr Snow,
I unpublished all my older poems.
Look forward to hearing from you again.

author comment

Read this one out loud, everybody ...

thanks for posting and wowing my afternoon,

good to see ya,


Hello again Richard
Glad it could make a difference to your afternoon.
Look forward to hearing more from you as well.

author comment

beer an coolaid with a bucket of chicken

at least with wings one can wing off with morsels

or this could be the news at night..
my peanut butter and jam
gotta fuel up in case something
comes up at night.
drop the bomb

one eye on the horizon..

Great Poem!

Hey Esker
What's beer and kool aid taste like?
Look forward to hearing from you again as well!

author comment
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