Neil Brosnan

line in the distance where two blues meet define their separate borders sky and sea open spline in the book of life sometimes clouds above white caps below the wind given life by...

fly on a peeling sill every surface potential edge of the world   eyes filled with light food wooed pile of dog mush bit of cheddar asparagus spear all the same to it   frustrated...

see how softly he whimpers now as the needle that fills him with kisses, weeps a concoction of sincerity cut with compromise tarnished silver teaspoon of grief erasing every meaning   whispering in...

after a final sip the master crushed his favorite cup bid each honored guest farewell retreated to the garden to rend from flesh undying essence   sever the shadow of the moon...

baby left sometimes she leaves stays away… I wait I can’t stand waiting – cannot make her come back soon enough   slowly time erases sorrow slakes sleepers wake again together one on one laugh away the hours lost the shadow’s left slowly fading on...

All night cross-town cabs yellow black Manhattan traveling at the speed of metered time. Surrounded by hubbub and sound honking their way to curb exits. Driven by expatriated hacks who...

death is a lime green cadillac with two sleek fins circa 1959 lots of chrome humongous tinted windshield   glides above bumps in the road finds its way to any destination the last...

bum feet street-beat wise sunk in banged up shoes previously dumpster swiped lean hobo soled holed haloed covered in foot funk sock stink grime   no blue suede shoes snappy tassel loafers…   gamy high-top sneakers here retro Corso’s weary worn down creased re-knotted raced in hiked trod...

  Because the moon has no place to rest she drifts in endless circles constantly shedding the memory of herself to forge through darkness brave night’s silence endure the stars.

sweltering August afternoon Rene Lazare bare foot, bare chested in a leather smock tied over ragged jeans feverishly manipulates pigments bent over an old barn’s floor mixing tube squeezed oils pressing and...

it’s difficult to know exactly how many of them are gone but the percentage is high   not the one’s who’ve lost their way the fallen down, mis-directed temporarily out...

lavender leashed dog festooned in a yellow slicker overly wrapped in man little rubber booties yukked with mud rhinestone collared Oh! how I wish you would bury the bones from that...

Your flesh was a glass chorus of cruel sirens who with every touch chafed the ribbons of my fingers raw. In your blue eyes I notched with a yellow...