Blue Horse Wind

Let go of your hold on reality and dive in for a magnificent ride with The Blue Horse Wind. Prepare yourself to be beguiled in the fantastic orgy of words that flow from Anastacia Burns in her supreme worship of the intricacies of this universe we humans have made. From explorations of the interior world of a flower, the secret life of pumpkins and snowmen, to the divine play of the cosmos, Anastacia Burns' poetry extravagantly interweaves the sublime and the horrific until we submit to the play of the dark and the light, the yin and the yang,that exists at the core of all existence.A sample from The Voyager: Am I you, are you me, we who live above the Village of the Dead, where wrinkled bleary eyed crooked trees shed their starry manes. No, I have dared not travel past to future and back. Have not stared Death in his eyeless eyes, seen through his cavernous Golem pool reflections, drank in these secrets, so only you would know. O my brother fed the x-ray blast of a dying star so you need not eat and do not grow, I fade to know, when will I die? .... When the baby Bodhi green dimpled twilight whines for his missing friend of young is old. When the sapphire jeweled heron that waits on one reed leg, with crashing splash spills the quick silver darting fish stored in her beak, that glimmering fish tail swish scaling up the never ending night. And from I,Lazarus (Homage to Bast): I, Lazarus, bleeding roses, annealed by age, into shielding thorns. Supplication sustained, by the confluent voices, of the legs, sheathed beneath glittering double fish tail, spindrift salient mermaids. Siren soprano, luminous phosphorous rising, over the merciless, nacre reliquary, green sheen matutinal, nocturnal, cat's cradle rocking sea. Apace in each rip tooth age, sheltered by crannies and nooks. And the maverick candor of those graced with kindness; the boon of a magenta bloom, survives in every anemic age.