I write poetry. Inspired by the undefined spaces where words take their chances.
pony of whiskey kindles behind the ribs as cold settles deeper
By Pixel Floyd6 days ago in Poets
it's the calm that's worrisome— that clings to stillness like chrysalides from a tree: ༄ exoskeletons of alabaster skin,
By Pixel Floyd2 months ago in Poets
In Florida, snowflakes rarely fall— this far south, maybe once or twice a sprinkler head might dress the golf course in a coat of winter white,
Broken bones mend whilst words will forever upend— 𓆱 words, are living things: they have personality,
Eels cop electric paralyzing sensations in murky waters
By Pixel Floyd3 months ago in Poets
I offered an olive branch this morning, an offering between nests. Rooted in love. It began ㅤ with a scrape at the sill, like a fingernail—
after prom, where the road runs straight to clay, miles fade too long to stay. ~ the hunt became the prey. ~ high jumped the boundary line,
jitter of weak knees distant pleas heard unanswered the whirring draws near
It came by way of oxbow and pine. Along the frost and snowy conifer. By yoke and plow in the nick of time. ⁂ A child leans to glean a sleigh bell’s chime,
we fan one tiny ember from all that remains of love's unbridled fire to stir to flame the cinder of dying desire
Awake to sconce light Cold raven walls closing in Duct tape keeps you stuck
Footsteps in echo stop when you stop to listen closer and closer
