Ben No Poems

red lines
and blue lines, intersecting and
encircling these two obsidian monuments
who stand haughty and implacable normally
...

Blood on the snow;
the falling white, like icy spikes.
The sky is low;
so oppressive it feels like
...

It's just how it is.
Sorry.
Condemned,
like a building no longer fit
...

I went away
to a magical land
where sedatives flowed like wine
and there were no sharp objects
...