“Hypnagogue” by F.J. Bergmann
The moons of twenty-eight yesterdaysare strung across silent twilight,a pearl necklace on the plump blue throat of a cyanotic stillborn prepared for burial. Under the phasing …
The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged.
The moons of twenty-eight yesterdaysare strung across silent twilight,a pearl necklace on the plump blue throat of a cyanotic stillborn prepared for burial. Under the phasing …
Unrelenting passion in a sonneteers delusion moving in rhythm with the windblown grasses hand in hand on a path through the hemlocks written vows of …
If I were to outlive you, I would feel the poet in me blackening, nails pulling in like a sea of petals in the mouth …
I hold the moon like a baby in my arms. If I let it go, it will fall. The light of the night will die. …
Diamond shimmers within sand, an ardor in the moon’s brightness; a whisper. Stealing of devoted memories cast one’s heart off into eternity; the promissory. Talking …