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The road seen, then not seen, the hillside hiding
then revealing the way you should take,
the road dropping away from you as if leaving you
to walk on thin air, then catching you, holding you up,
when you thought you would fall, and the way forward
always in the end the way that you came, the way
that you followed, the way that carried you into your future,
that brought you to this place, no matter that it sometimes
took your promise from you, no matter that it always
had to break your heart along the way, the sense
of having walked from far inside yourself out into the revelation,
to have risked yourself for something that seemed
to stand both inside you and far beyond you,
that called you back in the end to the only road
you could follow, walking as you did, in your
rags of love and speaking in the voice
that by night, became a prayer for safe arrival…

by: David Whyte
excerpt from SANTIAGO
Fearing Death I had polyamorous flowers.
Kept them occupied for hours with April showers
wisping in the muse
of my torrential

Slung low in the hip of dawn
I quake with ankles akimbo at sunrise
in my Night Kingdom.
So many blind Butterflies
to never catch-
sipping the Nectar of a Nod
where I kept It
seeping a
I come upon the winding road in the thicket
with a candle on my forehead, forging ahead
in the delightful remove.
Where the curves of the world
have cobblestones and ivy.
Briarpatch eyes and lazy ravens
painting the sky
too Blue.

I keep my leaving in my stationery hive of rain
and long mourning. Happiness chips away at the frost
of a dormant grove of beleaguered charms…
where hornets sleep on spikes of spun sugar
and canaries  are more yellow
than a laughing
In the cold November night
She had given us a fright
So we ran arm-in-arm away
Running towards forgotten days
And the sorrow of that
    woe-begotten light

We had told her what we'd done
And she'd said I'm not her son
Then we'd bolted out the door
Left your bootprints on the floor
And were gone before she'd
    leveled out the gun

The shots rang high and loud
And I swear that we were proud
To have made the Beast so ******
To be the Devils atop her list
Of all the evil Hell hath spat
    on this gray shroud
Into the Night we ran and played
For we had met our Judgement Day
Burned it down with light and love
Killed the monster, came the dove
And forever on we knew
    we'd have our say

There's no one could tell us "No"
If our Way wound to or fro
Our life at last was ours to live
And Death our gift to give
So we'd return for her at sign
    of year's first snow

And return for her we did
Deep in the cellar where she'd hid
Her thrusting cross and sobbing loud
"In Jesus' name I cast you out!"
For all the good that useless
    trinket never did

She wept and screamed and prayed
Hoping she'd at last be saved
From this night that wouldn't end
And her faith that wouldn't bend
And these children with their teeth
    like razor blades

We ripped and tore and fed
While she cried and shat and bled
Until her flesh began to cool
Her life now just a crimson pool
Puddled under her like Satan's
    marriage bed

We left her there on that stone floor
Behind us closed and locked the door
Our mother's blood across your face
Looked to me a veil of lace
In all our endless life I've never
    loved you more
Just noticed this is actually my 100th poem.  It didn't start out as a vampire story, but just sorta ended up that way.  'Tis the season, and all, I guess.  Hope someone enjoys it half as much as I enjoyed writing it.
 Mar 2020 Red Starr
Stalemate, double-date;
Go ahead-
Keep tempting fate.
Cross your fingers
That I'll take the bait.
Sideways glance,
check and mate.
Your move, Darling.

I'll sit
And wait.
Here Comes My Queen.
Wanna play?
 Mar 2020 Red Starr
Fingerprints on coffee cups,
Stale air, exhaled,
still circulating through the ducts, and
Crumbs pushed into cushions
that vacuums will never find.
We can try to clean up
the mess we made
but there will always be pieces left behind.
My winter is always brought to you by The Mountain Goats
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