The rim of her glassis a luminous sphere;a blurred smudge ofmoist crimson glidingdue north to her mouth.It sweeps this lesserGod to another Calvary. I trace from heel toshoulder, shapely linesBergman himself wouldhave made a meal of,would have entertained withchic strokes of chiaroscuro. It’s the perfect dashof flim flam in asudden twist of plot;the way sheContinue reading “Bonus Scene”
Tag Archives: #poets
Night Memoir
You never know whena word or two might stick;come creeping through an openwindow in these small hours. It’s a nagging of letters,where each tone followsa broken rhythm—void of anyrhyme or reason exceptit’s own shuffle towards a pointwhere one calls to another. It’s mostly artefacts anddriftwood now; spokensotto voce in a mulatto dialectthat is oddly familiarContinue reading “Night Memoir”
Shadow Commentary
The way he extracts datafrom his glazed opponentis a marvel of second sight. It’s all in the knowing what’sto come before the other knows. It’s a cinematic play of sinew andreflex; viewed through thetwin orbital tunnels of hisglassy eyed stare. ©️Orion Foote, 2021
Covert Reconnaissance
The poet’s hat was adept in cerebralmatters; It kept his brain warm.It formed a neat halo around his bonecarved dome & hid his mind from thescrutiny of strangers—shaded hisbrow from the sun’s hot daggers. Over shifts in time he would come to learn,that nothing could ever prepare one for theheated rush, or the cruel disappointmentofContinue reading “Covert Reconnaissance”
Eliot’s Cross Examination
Isn’t it true, that your actions sproutfrom bad nerves & a swarming hive of raging ghosts—tenants of the wetbrain running riot in deep arrears. I wish I could have wrapped you in fine Taipei silk & soft feathers,removed you from the scene of leapingshadows amongst a baptism of winter.Did you suffer by the grubby handContinue reading “Eliot’s Cross Examination”
Time Shifts
It’s a queer notion to consider;the spaces in between nanoseconds& light years dipping slylybelow the horizon line of memory. But it’s fictions of the mind that flatter.They bloat my cranium as I trace smallsteps in retrograde until I arrive backwhere I started—back at the beginning. That’s the place where I remembersilhouettes; the flickering stasis ofanotherContinue reading “Time Shifts”
Visions of Orion Poetry 