Filed under: floetry
hot breath & an ice cold shoulder.
kissed beneath a tremendous blanket on a humble bed.
how you gonna tell the ice queen to play it cool?
social unrest.
sleep is not for the wicked, but what wicked sleep it is.
(what happened to my dreams?)
interest piqued quickly turns to interest peaked.
frost. (peeking in)
bite.
you. (speaking in -)
tongues – unravelled. un-reveled.
it’s harder to tell just how cold she is in the winter.
Filed under: floetry

and yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,
that appeared once, still wet
as shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,
and, touched, coddled, began to live
in spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,
tribes on the march, planets in motion.
“we are, ” they said, even as their pages
were being torn out, or a buzzing flame
licked away their letters. so much more durable
than we are, whose frail warmth
cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.
i imagine the earth when I am no more:
nothing happens, no loss, it’s still a strange pageant,
women’s dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.
yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,
derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.
- c. milosz, and yet the books
Filed under: trill
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$20
76 pages – full color
perfect bound
23.8cm x 18.4cm (9.375” x 7.25”)
website: www.davepires.com
twitter: twitter.com/davepires
oftentimes in denying yourself pleasure you do but store the desire in the recesses of your being.
who knows but that which seems omitted today, waits for tomorrow?
even your body knows its heritage and its rightful need and will not be deceived.
and your body is the harp of your soul,
and it is yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused sounds.
- k.gibran on pleasure, from the prophet




