From the anthology, Monster Trees, a work in progress.
The Shine Of Secret Love In the ensuing evening of low-moon time, I am continually astonished at the rate of the dying. What has happened to these endless dead, These unliving shadows dressed in ripe memory? Such sentient moments spent in a haze nailed to the wall, Such ancient voices still speaking of vanished lives, Of obscure conversations in the old morning hours. These dead souls still know the turns and the names of the ancient avenues; I can see their faces again and hear their familiar voices in the coughing fog, We can sit here in this darkness and Leer at the lascivious naked moon, Strutting up there, looking for the shine of secret love. Or we can walk this slow avenue holding hands, Maybe find the Life Stone of our lives and heartbeats. Maybe we can stand under this curious streetlamp and Kiss for an hour.
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