I am winter's shadow across the desert
wandering in the back alleys and ravines
where the tumbleweeds go when the Monarch slumbers
to drink the last of the hiding frost
I am winter's shadow across the desert
a funeral-gaze across the Pit
to the titans that clutch the edge of my world
where, this year, Father draped no mantles
I am winter's shadow across the desert
greeted in silence by a broken landscape
whose children watch with clandestine eyes
awaiting my death in the spring
I am winter's shadow across the desert
the last grain of sand in the hourglass
the last muffled roar of Limantour
the last ray of moonlight on the horizon
_the last of my kind._
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
Love is countless lonely cigarettes
littering a passage to the grave
a cadaver just drained of its life
its heat slipping away
like a cup of Japanese Sencha
on the railing of a porch.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 2:23 AM UTC
_I hear the roar of the Wild Hunt_
_the forest is no bar to your call_
_the Spine cannot hold me from the North_
_I stalk the path to the Emerald Hall_
not on my back, or behind the knife driven into it
but with weathered hands in harder, harsher lands
lessons learned, the color of blood and sweat
cast down upon the granite altars of the Monarch
_could you feel me there?_
_as I have eternally followed in the distance_
_I have never lost your trail_
_you have never lost your tail_
the time has not been kind, and for your beauty
I have grown older, colder, bolder, and harsher in my ways
yet still blooming for your touch, for my reason to live on
for a warmth that only northern gods whisper isn't gone
_I see the path, stretching through the Pit_
_aflame in the light of countless dying moons_
_pawprints your love still leaves_
_filled with salt-water and sentiment_
and this place is sediment, cold blood running in it's hot streets
and with ***** feet, I will stumble past it's northern reach
to the edge of your fingertips, to the bridge that leads to you,
to the scent of evergreens, and the end that holds my death
_but I will not die before I can tell,_
_the path to paradise_
_doesn't begin and end in hell_
_call to me_
_I have not been idle_
_call to me_
_she for whom the arrow breaks_
_call to me_
_my life's one and only endless love_
_call to me_
_I'll be there_
_Tidewalker, call to me_
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 12:45 AM UTC
We draped ourselves in the failures of others
we hung ourselves on youth
in all the small places the people whispered
"there go they, pariahs of the dead faith,
stumblers in the dark...
watchers of bruised and battered hearts"
the news of it flowed swiftly from the cities
coursed through towns and markets
to eddie in the wild hills
and seep into the living hollows
there go we, alone
the last true believers of one another,
and an intoxicating madness we could not hold
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
I wish you were here
to grab my soul
between your palms
with that force you carried
to press it to yours,
to show me the beauty,
of a momentary loss of control
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 3:28 AM UTC
"Don't come any closer" she said
pulling a sliver from her heart,
the one she kept on her filament wrist
hand upraised, shaking but sure
a pinprick of light glinting in her fist
matching the spark shining through the hole
once filled with an object sharper than her pain
pull them out so you can forget
so you can remember
what it's like to breathe
what it's like to cast yourself
like the night sky
she lunged, a streak in the dark
everything roiled in a chaotic ink
except a twinkle one could balance
on the tip of a needle
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC
Blood wrote your name
on white orchid petals
Love carried them to the Seat
sure and swift of foot
Time pulled them
out onto the sky's edge.
I left them for the Monarch to devour
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 4:56 AM UTC
"I love you the planet full," she said.
********* the hem of her cloak
all fur, feather, sinew, and bone
with a scent of the wild and prey
"I will carry your best parts with me"
drawing the hem to veil her face
a single dark eye gathering in the light
to peer through a ragged hole
a hole shaped like myself
"Don't you find me beautiful?"
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
These people are so thankful,
these thankful people
and when they have all passed away,
every plate of cranberry-lacerated stuffing
and bowl of marshmallow-strangled yams
and that dish you always forget,
swearing not to next year:
I'll sit again the oaken throne, alone
face distorted threefold in mirrors
held in the trembling hands
of empty plates, yours most of all,
laughter pealing down
down
down
striking into an orb of blooded wine
home. again. still. never.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
It happens under a clear but crying sky
frosted fingers tracing lines
interfaced to the void
another image, clawed
scrabbling it's way past your eyelids
a numerical movement, venomous
winding it's body across your scalp
you cannot unsee them
paradigm shifts
situational perception overhauls
in an already chaotic nothingness
It happens under a clear but crying sky, realization
you are not the predator
watching, waiting
but remain the prey
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC