If I survive this
week's utter chaos, I can
pull through anything.
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 12:23 PM UTC
I visited Sophianae last week
to see a flock of ravens
who had large, black beaks
and weary, calloused
eyes and glossy scalpels.
They gazed at my divine,
God given gift; my spine,
a tree that holds up my being,
so twisted up and torn down.
They sighed in exasperation.
I almost felt their equipment
splitting me wide open;
instead I imagined
I was lost at sea
with Odysseus; then I saw clear:
their scalpels were glossy
from salty, fallen tears
and broken winged dreams.
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 12:21 PM UTC
On the day he died
King Arthur ordered his knights
told them to prepare to fight
and maybe even die;
He was brave
and so was Mordred
who put a sword through his father,
the once and future tyrant.
At Camlann, the day was hot,
yet so cold; the air was misty
and the sea boiled;
The trees tilted away
looking scared and ashamed;
The prophets were quiet,
tight lipped, they sat up high,
chain-smoking on the peace pipe.
Mordred's head was pins-and-needles.
He clawed at his sword in stress,
looking at the opposite camp.
He thought of his mother at Avalon,
wondering if she'll bury him there
or his father. What will he do upon
arriving with heavy steps
on the fields of Camlann? He feels lost.
King Arthur was brandishing Excalibur,
lost in thoughts of murderous
sons and treacherous friends
and cheating wives.
He was reminiscing of his sister
and the ***** secret that lay,
all his shame, out in the open.
“'Tis long overdue.” He pondered.
Then came the hour, the minute,
the second; On the plains of Camlann
an ordinary soldier
saw the heavens through the clouds,
while the great knights were busy
with bloodbath and sacrifice.
He screamed with joy and terror
as the swords clashed with each other.
In the midst of the bloodthirsty,
confused horde was Mordred,
a ****** smile on his face
and his ragged blade
tore a gaping hole
in his father's abdomen.
As soon as he hit the floor,
Lancelot came from beyond.
He was too late; his king dead,
his queen devastated, banished;
she fled unwilling, but obediently.
There was only one thing left
to do; Lancelot knew well.
So King Arthur met his end at Camlann
and died with his son, Mordred.
That was the day their lives ended;
The lake Avalon took them in
and swallowed their bodies whole;
Lancelot watched the fire burn away.
Nimue, at the bottom of the lake,
broke the sword in half and wailed.
The world got quiet and moved on,
carrying the weight of forever lost
Camelot.
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 4:34 AM UTC
Light streaks gleamed through the
Cracks in the clouds; O Heaven!
O Hell! Take me home!
Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 3:10 PM UTC
Like a serpent
it tears through me;
Conducting
my body in turns
and twists, as it pleases,
as the warmth pools in pits
in my stomach, my gut
tells me to *****
I feel detached.
Forever lost in a void,
the empty space of a thought
that I truly am alone. "Help!"
I yell, over and over and over
like a damsel in distress.
I am too tall, too dull.
my body is too far
for me to reach and grip
and curl up and pity
who I used to be
and who will I become,
after the blue light of my phone
dies down and falls
down through the sewer hole
in London Soho.
And all the while I stand,
unforgiving of the past,
erasing my name on documents
but still looking back at Them.
I'm always gonna look back.
I'm never gonna escape Hell.
and while Hell is Paradise
and Paradise is Purgatory,
and the choice is mine,
but I will never be able to decide;
Is it better to die
or to die and keep dying,
until I am reborn and never
seen again by the Neighbours
next door
who last saw me drinking coffee
and reading a poem.
Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 12:55 PM UTC