recent poems

when there is someone painting with eyes

as a horse runs because there was a heart
songs are heard as red string of the rolling out of bells
as our hands move quietly in shelves
we were so held once

the horse is the free running dear emotion
joining us in progress
and we are all bled from our fingers
and the ghost of cotton is eviscerated

the curved ghosts sing in space and time
the horse closes his eyes now
the red field is clear for those songs
glass moves, looking quietly at each other

a threaded surface, trying to be free
the holden to and shadows of streams
was endless and ever used to capture feelings like ours
what was the story set to the reeds

let us go in joys, as seeming ends continued, let us reap among skies
and buoys alone watch our progress
only ghosts drink of light
each presence, further than we can tell

this is a poem from Tom Blood

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