The Brutal Heart: a poem of sorts
The Brutal Heart Steve Bamlett We had fed the heart on fantasies,The heart’s grown brutal from the fare,More substance in our enmitiesThan in our love; oh, honey-beesCome build in the empty house of the stare. W.B Yeats. The Stare’s Nest By My Window (full poem at link) At first there was no pain: A rosebud … More The Brutal Heart: a poem of sorts










