…with your wild furies..

Now, rich order of walls is fallen…

This is one of three poems to perfectly describe the breakdown of a marriage – the others will be revealed in forthcoming dispatches from the subterranean reaches of the soul land, a dream space no one can inhabit for long and can never satisfactorily convey when back “in reality.” The dream time where we know what will happen but wake up as if we had not seen, heard or felt the warning signs dissuaded by mass groupthink, the hive mind will transform you more than you think, sitting atop your throne whichever one you sequester and call yours alone – when many have sacrificed to put you there.

The conversation is in silence
Confessions on a rainy alter
She jumps
He is pushed