Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
Disco Tent Now is the winter of our disco tent Our smoking havens To escape late rent To laugh and bray To come what may Stay up late and make a world pay Now is our winter of our disco Continue reading Disco Tent by Ziggy Dicks
Large Lunch Tips slide on smeared plastic A decision is mulled With a mantra of “Ah” A muscle curls on lips A ritual is completed A summoning has been made A Wizard scribes a spell And stabs a wand into Continue reading Large Lunch by Ziggy Dicks
Ode to Arachne Lustrous black hangs over pale skin Gleaming green under deities sight Wheeling toes transfer lanolin Watchers skill shadows this neophyte Who’s damning dexterity draws in The old woman watching weaving Whispering advice to halt spokes But fibrous Continue reading Ode to Arachne by Ziggy Dicks