Here Mouthed the Flutes of Hell

I quivered with just a look

It didn’t take long to pass

A pause, a hook

 

And the subject was dropped

Rooted, in the left atrium

Of my little heart

 

Lithe and silent

I watched while taking

Fledgling notes

 

From far beneath

In social standing and command

Like a bubble of lady-like laughter

 

Caught in my tempestuous throat

Severed from my idle tribe

I was a minister in a foreign place

 

Breathing deeply

The scarce articulate air

Which burst into storm

 

Like the memory of your face

As if I could throw

My bosom to the sea

 

Or drag down the light of stars

Something things were not meant to be

Listening and trembling

 

Life didn’t stop to think

Only until my veins burst

Low calls to dreaming girls

 

An infinite surge

Of god left behind

With no capital for old pangs

 

I bide my time hoping

Every heart-wound will make it stop

I am the prey indeed

Of death’s delicately young body

Reviews

[Nao Deguchi]

I'm not sure what a pupal stage is EMF, but I'll take your word for it.

[EMF]

Again I can see the newness and struggle in your work that seeks both identity, understanding and artistic form. An interesting style that has dirrivitations, but glimpses of identiy and quality. Let no review decide the form you eventually will take, but this pupal stage is intriguing