Thursday, August 19, 2010

Demon Hunting

We fall inside a sphere of masquerade and fear,
Streaked blood and dust all through, like little walls
Built of vanishing cards and formless souls.

Insistent and persistent lies, I idolize;
Above all else I worship any proof
That lies are real, more than the ugly truth.

And gladly death would take me in his purple hand
And squeeze me till I bled like warm, fresh juice
Into his cup. Look up; there's no excuse.

Full twenty thousand years, and half that time spent lost,
A laugh cracked out, unnoticed, edged, serrated.
Those who can hear it now are overrated.

An eye turns upward glinting like diamond facets:
Cold, wet, made of white marble with red veins...
And devoid of all that heals or sustains.

Saturday, August 14, 2010


Oh, if I could just reach out
And hold back that lightning
Before it disappears!

If I were king.
If I had the skill.

I'd cradle its prehensile flicker
And marvel as it tickled
All my fingers.

If I had the skill
To serve my will.

Could I dance the same arcane steps
The light dances in its power
Across the storms?

If I knew how
I wouldn't be here now.

The terpsichorean arts,
I fear, failed me entirely.
Black days lengthen,

And moonless nights
Grow in proportion.

Mastery of all I see;
Master of masks am I,
On those moonless nights.

Truth and death follow after
As I walk backwards.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Pure And Cold White

When snow is thick on the very waves
And the waves rise up like screaming witches
And the dead lie gray and cool in their graves
And the tailor ends his line of stitches;

When the snow covers over the windows
And drifts higher than the gabled roof,
And I can no longer watch where it bellows
Against the road, where you walked, aloof;

Then, only then, will I finally sleep
In a sleep like death, wherein I won’t dream.
So from now until Winter this watch I’ll keep
And sew another long wedding gown seam.

Trooped ranks of daisies, pure and cold white,
Tempt my mind to believe in the frost.
When a motherly breeze stirs them with light,
Pretty fingers so warm, my hope spark is lost

And its fire dies down to an ash-colored coal
And I prick my finger just to remind my blood
That my heart is still beating, and once it was full
And in Winter pure blankets of snow hide the mud.

And the diamond-clad ground any darkness will pierce.
Someday the seasons will swing ‘round their head
And smile again, with that smile so fierce,
On the one who returns, even back from the dead.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Before Breakfast

I walked on the moon this morning.
It was blue and cool,
Probably from the tides.
All they gave me was a warning
And the name fool;
And then I found my way outside.

I flew over Jupiter this morning.
If the sky is the limit
Then I'm breaking down the rules.
I light my path by sojourning.
Opposition can't dim it:
Light glows and flows and pools.

I found my home this morning.
It is cool and dark like hands
Holding me back lest I fall.
The hands of seashells adorning
The beaches and white-hot sands,
Where dances a child's doll.