Eating Poetry

Flotsam, Jetsam, Driftwood

come before the storm
I want you to Blitzkrieg the corners of my heart
until I’m flotsam

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Eating Poetry

Messy, Helter-Skelter Love

But God doesn’t come rattling at your door in the middle of the night, you said. He lingers in the cool shadow of your garden tree, patiently waiting for you to let him in.

I took your words for granted. I didn’t know I had been listening to the ancient echoes of  dying angels.