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

fire
Image Source: Flickr

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Arbitrary Spring

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

© Ben Ditmars 2015

spring
Image Source: Flickr

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