upside down
no true white
me not me
skeletal structure
hangs the meat
perfect fit
layer upon layer
me not me
no true black
inside out
Tag Archives: poetry
The Warlock’s Wake
(first draft)
The Warlock’s Wake
the minions huddled together crooked spines with scales sipping their kerosene cocktails
the old lady down the lane told the news to one and all
heretical harpy, that one
the last to arrive silent as graves were the Minutiae twins bringing their only recipe no one ate
entrails untouched, desecrated faire
all agreed: the way she died felt undeserved
though her life spent unclean
dirtied hands and lying lips
the good deed finally met punishment (simple as that)
no rhythm or rhyme sewed the stitch
at the warlock’s wake
the crones and maids
kept their distances, wisely
for each knew they could catch the other’s
disease of time and beauty
and the sting would hurt
one would have a mirror break
(but the old woman down the lane covered them all with black crepe, for she respected the dead: and coddled the living)
the pretty ones and the ugly ones would not compete today: the warlock showed them that
you never think it will happen to you
you never listen you never learn
the imps danced outside and smoked
flirted with the fairies
and the demons sat sulking
the moon lobbed juicy blood orange sweet dripping embarrassed moon felt swollen engorged hidden behind smoked veils of clouds revealing the show one at a time
the stars prickled like wet wool on thin wrists
uncomfortable in the evening
but at the warlock’s wake
demons
imp
genie
the bugbears and the grim
ate suspicious scraps from the tables
(finishing the twins’ feast)
the Dwarf sang a dirge
while the small ones cried
(the only ones who seemed to grieve)
at the warlock’s wake
rumors said she died of fright
and some said she had no friends
others knew the truth must be
that she died of lust
but the coffin weighted with coins and fur
fooled the bearers six
she was not where they thought she’d be
six feet underground
but dancing under the moon
with a new moon face
and a new moon witch
the warlock’s wake
the drunken demons danced
to false beats and strings
it sounded a lot like this:
and this:
the batter head drums
and hear that?
heartbeats stopping
all
fall
down
Tiny Poetry Time: The Wall
Do you think I’m pretty?
I asked the Wall
A great gearing creak of stone and oil took in a breath
rebar skeleton shifted fanged mouth sliding open to reply
And answered
silent
Do you love me?
I asked the Wall
rusty streak eyes carved art groves of pear tree tears open to see
And envisioned
blind
Do you hear me?
I asked the Wall
drumming vibrato earth shaking quake friction pitch perfect to hear
And listened
deaf
I left a copper in the relief:
and went through the gate
