m.t. whitington


A force majeure, female catalyst, futurist, polemicist, psychonaut, epistemologist. Ruminating between the lines with a clarion call and extreme unction.  A global writer with southern roots.


Jass

Jass

i ran my hand

through sticky

 

veil,

 

it weighed

my vision,

 

petals fell.

 

silk

 

anchor quivers

the scent of wood,

 

recite my spell:

 

once in provence,

peacock music...

 

for the nonce

fern fronds, seeds and

 

vine

 

spiders in the jasmine

haku mele –lei

 

 

illusory time,

now play...



 

Cedar Waxwing

Cedar Waxwing

We're all cucks now!

We're all cucks now!