The rain battered branches
thrash and shudder
in the dim light of one window.

One person,
still awake,
deep into the stormy night.

Listening to
the howling coyotes-
they were not here last year.

They howl for the desert winds
that they miss so much,
but only the thunder responds.

A low, resonant growl.
I am tired too.

I wish to walk
on threaded moonbeams
through dreams
on velvet silent paws

not worrying about
the heaviness inside
and whether or not
the universe will hold me up

to look down
at the turning world below
and not have to ask
if I am safe here.

Bittersweet nightshade drips from your lips
I want to be coated in your poison spit.
My dead skin is datura white,
two mad dreamers dancing through the night.
I can feel your trembling claws
swaying with the foxglove’s paws.
Cut me open and I’ll bleed sap,
strength of the yew fighting back.

The mask is beautiful,
ivory, with golden filigree
and studded with crimson rubies.
But the eyes behind it are empty,
dull and lifeless.

I have been living a lie.
Split in half by the she-wolf's fangs
the husk shambles on
while I lie dying
among the fallen leaves.

While I lie dreaming
among the drifting snow,
it turns to rain and flower petals.
Wishing to never wake up,
wishing that this is all there is.

Sweet fae doll,
dressed up in all soft perfume and glitter
to make you look alive.
Like a dragonfly on a downwards spiral,
or a sheen of blood on a white marble floor,
the glitter in the corners of your eyes shines.

I wear sweet absinthe on my lips
and dark rings under my eyes
and I wonder- do you ever look like me too?
Do you ever cry at night?
Is your radiance merely an illusion
to be robbed by the moon?

Do you not exist until someone sees you,
little quantum illusion?
I wish, I wish, I wish
my face would crystallize and shine
and the resonance deep within
would be forgotten under shadows.

To get at the marrow,
crack open the bones.
The screams of the conquered
"We want to go home."
Flying like birds
let out of the cage
right into monstrous
black jaws of rage.
Insatiable hunger
for an insatiable mind
maybe next time
they will be more kind.
Not to provoke
the slumbering beast,
not to awaken
the unholy feast.

Your skin
paper thin
peels away
when I touch
like a brush
there is sludge
pooled underneath
the residue
of thinking through
the theories
of deities
and karma
arising
from leaving me
alone in peace
to slowly rot
eyes turned inwards
collapsing
egg
rosebud
samsara
beats
like a drum
the unending thrum
of human hearts
and the earth
resonating
repeating
growing restless.