Paul David Thomas

The Muse : Crimson Day (for K.)

The morning on a crimson daythe grass blades-wicked spearsof Mars to slaythe grey ghost world-“reality”-set upon the backdropof a colorful dreamwhile sunlight bleeds through skinlike fountain inkthrough cotton paper.Day light claims the brain, of the crimson day.           The fading swoon of a fairy greenand a sweet cubefor the short rushmore certainthan the eternal […]