Poetry & Prose

Trembling on scorched feather feet
we slip back, and
forth, across empty deserts
toward water stained dates
and cold nights. Alone
we sleep with one eye open
watching for thieves.
Hoping they’ll stay awhile
and keep us warm.

Michel LazzaroTrading Loneliness for Sadness

Dust drifts from corner
rooms flecked sunlight, hanging,
waiting for a breath, a sigh,
a moment suspending in time.
Gasping —
without lungs —
searching for the pieces
to whom we all belong.

Michel Lazzaro | Suspending Animation

The loss of tomorrow
makes healers soldiers,
as the breeze turns
to raging wind.
A naked man watches,
the fire smolders,
as the last days of forever
begin.

Michel Lazzaro | A Struggling Man (excerpt from something dunno what, probably take me a year to finish )

We sleep poorly
and love tired eyes.
We paint the windows
with coffee stains
so our kisses wake the sky.
We fight mistakes
and argue over who birthed
the universe in each others eyes.
We dance with our clothes off
and sleep with our fingertips resting
on each others breast
counting the beat, beat
of infinite breath.
We were destined to fall
in love from the very start.
And I don’t see how
this love won’t last
forever.

Michel LazzaroYou Deserve a Never Ending Love
freddie-photography:

'Water World in Macro' 2014
By Freddie Ardley Photography
Check out Freddie’s: Facebook Twitter Instagram Website

freddie-photography:

'Water World in Macro' 2014

By Freddie Ardley Photography

Check out Freddie’s: Facebook Twitter Instagram Website

You are the milky way;
covered in flares
of explosive stardust,
a galaxy over-
come with heat
sucking in oxygen
at such a slow rate
you’d think it just learned
how to breathe
without destroying itself
and a million planets.

Michel LazzaroLove Letter Insults

The tracks are blurring, she says
stirring a martini with no olives
and a half shot whiskey. Neat,
she asked for. The bartender
rejected the notion of smooth shallow
liquor pouring down a mountain
and went with a summer storm rainfall
with nothing to hold back the sun
but swirly clouds and a whisper of wind.

They taste like sadness, she continued.
The tracks, of course. He nods.

Sighing she stands.
Half a man with no words, half a woman
with blurred tracks following her home.

Michel LazzaroBlurred Footsteps in Mud 

I think it was a Thursday, in Summer,
on the shores of a lake lacking fish
that I counted the breaths between your lips
and thought maybe I could learn to die
happy. I wanted to count the freckles
on your face instead of swim in the galaxies reflecting
down on silver surfaces; like glass waiting to break
we were on the verge of destruction and infinite
in the possibility love. I wanted
to sweat out all the times I tried to ignore forever.
I think it was a Thursday, or Tuesday, or Monday,
or Sunday, that I decided to stop thinking;
it was definitely summer when you taught me
how to live in silence and enjoy the noise
before the lights above us all die.

Michel Lazzaro | I want to follow your echo forever (via elzaro)

I think therefore
I am destined
to die a million times
before the rattling bones
and grey hair erase
a final blurring
of life.

Michel LazzaroA thousand lies come before we die

We had a chance
in the colors
and eye reflections

we were crazy
to stand so close
to the edge of ourselves

we were bound
to bleed out
into the streets

we refused endings
in certainty; lust
never failing

caught loneliness
and stayed awake
forever.

Michel Lazzaro | Erotic Solitude

A wet gravel road holds
a piece of skin
flapping in the wind,
blue blood leaking out;
it’s waiting. Miles away and
halfway around the world, swaying
on the edge of a cliff face
looking out on a river winding
toward the horizon, bending into cities
and over tree stump forests,
I am infinite.

Cold wind breaks
over the edge, pushing outward,
unfurled and sighing we watch the clouds;
bone clad wings catch nothing.

A thousand miles away. The wind is dead.
Blue blood has stained an empty road
and a man sits shoveling gravel
into an empty grave.

Michel LazzaroBlue Blood (via elzaro)

elzaro:

   
 Flash Fiction
 Genre: Science Fiction
 Author: Michel Lazzaro 


      It was raining again, the droplets combining with the heavy wind to form a mist of grey covering the city of Tara Dornn. A large city on a small planet, it grew in the crater the settler ships had formed when they landed thousands of years before. No towers arced into the grey-blue clouds, no lights flickered in windows, there was nothing to indicate you were not looking at a city in ruin except for the constant blur of colors moving on the streets. The vast array of Sentient life going about their daily tasks. 
   Deadrin stood with an umbrella held over her head. Her fists were scarred and weathered from bar fights and long days pulling ropes and metal coils. Thin but well defined muscles rippled across her shoulders and upper arms as she reached her hand out to trace the cityscape in the air before her, the rain dripping from her off-white fingers. She smiled at the sky as the water fell around her. It had been three days since she quit her job on one of the Rada grain farms and took the four hour train journey to live in civilization again. 

Read More

I think it was a Thursday, in Summer,
on the shores of a lake lacking fish
that I counted the breaths between your lips
and thought maybe I could learn to die
happy. I wanted to count the freckles
on your face instead of swim in the galaxies reflecting
down on silver surfaces; like glass waiting to break
we were on the verge of destruction and infinite
in the possibility love. I wanted
to sweat out all the times I tried to ignore forever.
I think it was a Thursday, or Tuesday, or Monday,
or Sunday, that I decided to stop thinking;
it was definitely summer when you taught me
how to live in silence and enjoy the noise
before the lights above us all die.

Michel Lazzaro | I want to follow your echo forever

   
 Flash Fiction
 Genre: Science Fiction
 Author: Michel Lazzaro 


      It was raining again, the droplets combining with the heavy wind to form a mist of grey covering the city of Tara Dornn. A large city on a small planet, it grew in the crater the settler ships had formed when they landed thousands of years before. No towers arced into the grey-blue clouds, no lights flickered in windows, there was nothing to indicate you were not looking at a city in ruin except for the constant blur of colors moving on the streets. The vast array of Sentient life going about their daily tasks. 
   Deadrin stood with an umbrella held over her head. Her fists were scarred and weathered from bar fights and long days pulling ropes and metal coils. Thin but well defined muscles rippled across her shoulders and upper arms as she reached her hand out to trace the cityscape in the air before her, the rain dripping from her off-white fingers. She smiled at the sky as the water fell around her. It had been three days since she quit her job on one of the Rada grain farms and took the four hour train journey to live in civilization again. 

Read more …

A wet gravel road holds
a piece of skin
flapping in the wind,
blue blood leaking out;
it’s waiting. Miles away and
halfway around the world, swaying
on the edge of a cliff face
looking out on a river winding
toward the horizon, bending into cities
and over tree stump forests,
I am infinite.

Cold wind breaks
over the edge, pushing outward,
unfurled and sighing we watch the clouds;
bone clad wings catch nothing.

A thousand miles away. The wind is dead.
Blue blood has stained an empty road
and a man sits shoveling gravel
into an empty grave.

Michel LazzaroBlue Blood