Firebird is a member of Beach Art, Gay Men, Railway Art and Photography, The Male Nude and Trains.
He drove into the service bay just as I was locking the door from the inside to close for the night. I could see him, blonde and shirtless, wiping his entire face: pale with patches of bright red. H…
It was like the earth had grieved at evening— / With subtle movements too and forth; / Like a mother rocking with her child, and later, / Alone and on the ground in unbelief. The thunder outside…
The reverends spoke like men persuaded / Without distress, with childish faith. / And they asked me to see it as a part / Of something larger than his life. Still I thought I’d known better; / …
See how the old man laughs at his labour / As he finds the foxglove, ripe, / Within the yet-green gardens’ mesh. See how it bids its gardener to rest— / With noxious, toxic, bells that ring. / …
As though they were unaware of the virtue inside.
“Come now to me that lucid eyes might view—” / He screams while echoes bound, excogitating / Their response.