Author: B. R. Burdette
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Spark
I sip the teas of prose and guzzle electrolytes of poems. I proselytize by the Shamanism of my native tongue; my inner, transcendent, mystical language. The dancing wick is never doused, sickly as it shivers. Inspiration hides itself, imagination rebels, creativity is inured. Recurrent chapters of stimulative destitution trigger the hunt. I attempt to thwart,…
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Home
Through pensive eyes gazing at the gaping horizon which sings, I permit the sovereignty of nostalgia to saturate. Contemplatively, I stroll a garden in which roses smile all around me, dripping their wet jewelry gifted by the morning. At the top of a mountain resides a remote monastery sat upon by the narcissistic Sun, depicting…
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Lamadrid
It is despair incarnated; it is disorder converted into sound; it is a translation of anger; it is anguish distilled into a black purity. A raging bull has composed this piece through flared nostrils. Horror has asserted its authority in a land of leaking sewers. This noise has emanated from his skull, a cemetery of…