Author | Poet | Husband | Dog Dad | Nerd
Find my published poetry, and short story books here!
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Emma wore a silk red cloak as she watched the battered body of her sultan husband, of Viking folk, burn atop the rippling currents.
By Kale Sinclairabout a year ago in Poets
There was a phantom residing in the red wake of our afterglow. As it was above, it was just the damn same below. A blood opera
We took the ferry to the remote island surrounded by rogue waves. We named the currents and carved inappropriate glyphs
Mountaintop views used to reflect the landscape of our sloped emotions. Until your flawed devotion broke my law of motion.
Soil beneath my fingernails represents the flesh of the planet, mimicking the appearance of a hungry child devouring the flesh of a fresh pomegranate.
A shadowy figure paced back-and-forth between the white willows in the north corner of the public gardens. The wooden swan boats creaked and moaned against the gentle ripples cascading from the family of bathing ducklings.
By Kale Sinclairabout a year ago in Fiction
I lurk within tall grass while my hands clasp to sharp glass. I ensure I endure pain as I outlast as an outcast. If my skin is equivalent to tree bark
Reflections in mirrors are overrated perceptions of fillers projecting perfection with filters while complexions bewilder the eyes of the beholder.
You asphyxiated my sick lungs with softened lips and a sweet tongue. You drained the blood from my veins while it rained the remains
Affection attracts abusive acts acting as abstract anxiety. Emotionally embarrassing emails exterminate empathy exceptionally
Feral pheromones revel within the invisible peril of cellular phones. Feeding on sterile biochemical conversations we humans use
Not for nothing, nothing always turns out into something. If life’s a lesson then the lesson is to push some buttons. It’s depressing how a blessing can hinder expressing,
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Poets
