Through a fraction of a fractal

Poetry for the meaningless, madness and simply being human.

Latest from the blog.

The Verse of Being.

There were four children who wove the wicker of fire that colors every blade of grass, every eye that is. One covered the sky, in her disappearance she sparked secrets that swirled in her silent cauldron And the other, took…

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Autumn rain

The autumn rain falls sleepy on crinkled orange, strewn along the path, winding with no certain destination into the far horizon of the setting sun where fire meets fire and the world burns its wildest before the waning sun ushers cold…

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The word human

I, what is– ‘I’? I call myself the word ‘human’ But, what is human? Not the word but the thing itself? Am I the thing itself? Or that which says this is ‘I’? But, what says ‘I’? What is I?…

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Poems to your letterbox

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