ghosts, in smoke

on tightrope bridge of
fading menthol
stick,

this brand-worn glacier’s
passive trick

curls coarse lips with
angry ash,

sifted soothing
strokes,

by buried
treasure hands,

heaped into souring
souls,

on decay of slipped
tongue breeze

past guarded gravestone’s
ghost beach trash

© Anthony Gorman 2018

image: pixabay

chivalry crushed

was proud dupe propping chancel
gates ajar, oh it’s
true

to be stripped cheap and chastised, ‘fore
harpy’s heels stomped on
through

’till that cool eve, I paused aye
in lieu of  shadowing 
you

© Anthony Gorman 2018

image: Pixabay