Flying Machine

Hallowed nerves, an empty shell
Overflowing, headless on the beam.

We crash a glass half-full of relapse
Like the chambers of a Rozière balloon
Or loaded gun, she speaks

In syllables releasing hydrogen
As Lightning strikes.

Come Josephine,
The moon is on fire.

© Ben Ditmars 2015

Image Source: Flickr

Arbitrary Spring

Blood warm April rain
Suspends my consciousness
Through formless ripples
Of an arbitrary Spring.

© Ben Ditmars 2015

Image Source: Flickr

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: