Poems from Kurt Philip behm
The raw material of art
is pain
The grandest illusion of all
is time
Whether parchment, canvas,
melody or stone
Each breakthrough immortal...
Truth doesn’t have an owner
propriety be damned
The light from the source
directing us home
—unbroken by command
(Dreamsleep: March,...
The middle of the road
is where people live
The middle of the road
is where our hearts sing
The middle of the road
it raptures and...
Arresting the future
as well as the past
Time the great jailor
its prison precast
A graveyard of victims
in temporal loss
Destiny...
Hearing the word
speaking the word
Often quite different
—often the same
(Dreamsleep: March, 2023)