HUNGER, A SHORT TALE OF HORROR

  The Man. The morning was a challenge from the offset. One of those days when I should’ve stayed in bed; the milk had curdled in the crippled cardboard carton so my coffee was black and bitter before I accidentally downed half of it over the front of the shirt I’d spent too long pressing […]

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ILLUSIONS 

  Gardens grow, trees get taller, clouds gather. I see you in the movement, in the air that rushes past time turning, in the scent of sweetened summer now swept into corners now shaded. Clouds gather, trees get taller, gardens grow smaller. Eden is an illusion lost.   All words and photographs by Damien B. […]

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FAITH 

  Falling from above into a concrete sea where tree meets sky salvation is still possible.   All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly 

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BEAT 

  We are all of us bats beating against the darkness happy  to be closer to the heavens  than the dungeons hardly hanging on  to tissue taunt beaten down  but not broken. We are bats  beating on with a hope held out  for that white night. All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly 

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BREAK OF LIGHT

  I choose the path; this winding way though the midway, battling though the brambles and briars, I have stains on my soul, I have splinters in the tissue of my beating breast, beating, breaking, panting, I have moments when my feet no longer feel their footing, when falling is all I can handle, I choose […]

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CONCRETE CONDITIONING 

  Imagination is forgotten as we grow into compromise, into concrete, cities cover the condemned in a cloud of conditioning and leaves the child  imprisoned in us all.   All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly 

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MOMENT AFTERWARDS 

  In absence lips lean out in longing, clouds gathering, a chill in the air, the warmth slipping.   Memory is a playful thing, you tease and turn over and back to before.   We kissed, I feel it intensely, I see it clearly in the mirror still marked from a night now over.   […]

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BURNING STARS 

  We are liars, all and often, lying in folds familiar, hoping for holds to fill the failure, settled into settlements we never wanted but thinking something, anything, this thing is better than nothing, while the Poet prefers to pen the pessimism than to perish with it. And still we are liars, the pen turns […]

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