wakensong

if theirs was the path not followed
then how could we have ever known
of their hopes veiled, atwist in shame
yet now we know
departing eden saved our lives
from the tyrant we thought we knew
meta alpha spitting swords of flame

pious choirs cleaved to the throne
he churned their psalms into a voice of ruin
his shadow sloped through every heartland
so now we know
that whenever he swore to bury us
each variance of will collapsed their brains
they tore themselves on the teeth that hound

we truly blest have truly moved on
presuming to carry gentle our selves
’til we wake to say the soft parts loud
it’s all we know
that if you’re enough then i am too
so will you be my hello for the last time
and tell everyone i love them

Osmose

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022

GUEST POST // Viaticum 3 – Wooden hands by Chris Nelson

Knotted fingers work their skill
Sculpting nature’s giants,
As passion flows through hands
Designed to make things new.
Hematic flow from skin to grain
Rekindles life anew,
This touch like cryptesthesia
Animation from the dead.
And now you try to steal this love
To touch another’s flesh,
To breathe life within a kiss
And raise an amaranthine army.
These hands show dried and lifeless
Now splintered from mis-use,
Cut from weeping saplings
And drowned in blood of men.

by CHRIS NELSON
© All rights reserved 2000-2019

(and god did nothing)

in darkness he went down
in a braille of feet and saltwater sand
to the sea awayed he
from the so-called promised land

who would be torn if not he for he
for the span of what was and never would be
his tears only added to the plan
a gram worth nothing, impotent man

in silence he laid down
under veil of nori and saltwater cran
to the sea awayed he
from a post-coital life spent in remand

who would mourn if not he for he
for the span of what was and never would be
his fears only added to the plan
a gram worth nothing, impotent man

child of god
he prayed for something good and true
slave of god
swallowed instead by the reckoning blue

in parentheses he drowned
into vale of drib and saltwater dram
to the sea awayed he
from the parochial feckoning hand

who would have borne if not he for he
for the span of what was and never would be
his tears and fears added to the plan
a gram worth nothing, impotent man

child of god
he begged for something good and true
slave of god
swallowed instead by the beckoning blue

child of god
into a sea of no avail
slave of god
to the reckoning sea travailed he

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

christ on a bike

why do they add the aitch between
and how is that meant to be offensive?
jesus and christ, middle name harold
likes long walks on the beach and hurling frisbees
what’s so contemptible about that?

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016