by Alexander of Lawrence


Ghost riding through the boulevard of untold tales, while engaging memory lane at every toll.

Swerving & merging onto the avenues that are found on the crossroads of every floor at the end of every story.


Every tile places accordingly, according to the miss in the dress at the window.

She smiles at her reflection possibly envisioning life without walls, only terraces.


The terraces of her fascination lead to greener gardens,

but only an autumn away from the winds that muse her lovers' quill.


The beneficiary of her bouquet admires her tulips dancing under the track lights of the moons nocturnal might.

Dark like soil, the night surrenders before the silhouettes that are entangled with the shadows of their passion.


Moans at dawn turn to ricocheting echoes playing "Simon Says" on an orgasmic harmonica.

Eyes glistened as flesh conquers flesh while teeth sink like burning battleships at sea.


The pupils of a brighter sun found their selves marooned on a body of sensuality,

consumed only by the hydration from the sky as the rain washes their lust down the deep channels of reality.



Alexander of Lawrence emerges organically in a synthetic base society.


This poem originally appeared in issue 3.