Poems from Skapande
Archaic figures haunt your somnolence,
Akin to spires of some forgotten hold
That, now all dark and dense,
Was...
O, sea-soaked soul that rides the pother pale
And warm, that storms on lowing tide;
Whose heralding entails
The...
Wouldn't it be funny
If the stars in their black beyond were hung from the ceiling by fishing line
Just painted white cardboard, hollow -...
Reckless Penny Dreadful
On the posy in your boutonniere
A face is aptly shining
But we both well know it isn't there
Penny, Penny Dreadful...
I am a poem without pretense.
I am a poem without a personal vendetta against a nebulous dark soul or some figuartive suffocating force of...