Black Butterflies

gun-shy down
the barrel of a
ball-point pen.

chasing answers
like black butterflies.

© Ben Ditmars 2015

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Photograph Courtesy of Helle Gade

Read her blog here.

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Rock or Island

somehow ambiance is lost on
power-lines, silent stitches

I can’t comprehend without

more rain like Charlie Sheen
intoxicated with a virus…

I might be a
rock or island.

© Ben Ditmars 2015

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Photograph Courtesy of Helle Gade

Read her blog here.

War Wounds

she speaks war wounds
from a flame, sobbing wine stains:
death-defying light,
a sudden mist of silver lining
bent on superstition.

frozen in the stratosphere;
your trust a heavy breeze
of free electrons, charging
atmospheres we left behind.

© Ben Ditmars 2015

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Photograph Courtesy of Helle Gade