A Sunday sacrifice condensed
Golden amber sprites compete
Cries of life echo their last bequest
As prongs and tongs poke
Black bars sizzle on cold dead flesh

Sweetened smoke invokes
the demon's first bite
Mind controlled spoke of rites
The decree of three hundred degrees
Old and new viewed
on separate pews
Charcoal bright a dusty white

Rules do vary with belief in
the division of meat
Breathe in look up
Give thanks to the energy received
Respect both life and death in defeat

You make my heart beat
like a drum echoing in a
darkened hallway

look at the graph, he said,
this line that makes a hill
is the echo from your heart.
who sent the first ping?
a beat, a rhythm I can't decode?
Next time, listen to your heart carefully.

Of a brewing silence
and buried emotions
we’ve built a house
walled with doubts
our interior decor
layered with rancour
Scattered ornaments
cloak our armaments
Oft engaged in aphonic wars
We rack up our scores in
crystal-clear jars

Hello?
Can you hear me?

Do you feel the same?
You do?

Hello?
Can you repeat me?

Hello?
Can you give me my opinion?

Hello?
Should we silence all disagreement?

You used to kiss my scars, used to cherish my broken pieces.

You promised to always be there.. to always listen.

Somehow it's changing..

"Honey" is now replaced by my name.

Your voice sounds cold on the phone, "low battery" you said.

I can't deny it, my gut is screaming.

I am losing him.

Left alone,
the way he said my name still echoes in my head.

When did your promises turn fake?

My palms in my pockets jingle
the keys to my cave as I make
my way to wherever I’m going.
My legs propel me, and my feet
dodge cast-off gum and dog dung.

And on my head rests a fishbowl.

An extra load on my skull,
but I don’t mind. I rather
like this bowl. It gives me
a barrier, and though thin,
the glass has yet to crack.

I hear my voice resound,
bouncing around the tiny
space, and I smell my breath,
minty fresh and foggy, and
through the fog the world and
its creatures are phantoms.

When I’m addressed, it’s like
floating in frigid freshwater
as they call for me from
the sheet of ice above.
They suspect I’ve lost
my soul in the fishbowl,
yet as year after year
goes by, I feel just fine.

I am an astronaut taking
a space walk, drifting around
and watching the universe
unfold under a sheet of glass.

And when I close my eyes,
I am in a womb, or a coffin,
and I often can’t tell the
difference, nor find much
of a reason to tell.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow

"I love you," I whisper into the void,
but the only response is my echo.

While amongst the tresses of velvet night upon the moon river there lived a fairy that felt the echoes as she caressed her fingers upon the silvery water, she was the one with the dark eyes as bright as stars and a heart purer than the first snowfall, the voice of her glided through the clear waters and high into the wind as the leaves danced to her ethereal barefoot step through the mist shrouded forest where her companions, the fawns and the birds, were at peace where they lived. Until a traveler arrived one night and was enchanted by the soft, honey breath of her symphony, Indeed, in harmony they were, as the strums of his lute shared with her voice until time had passed for the mortal traveler and his spirit left the forest. The fairy and the animals were saddened by his leaving, so the fairy flew to the branch they sat upon that neighbored the celestials and she found a strand of silver blonde hair as a memory of her lover. Soon, she then returned to her companions and buried the strand within the earth, then, with the power of the sun and the fairy’s tears, a plant soon arrived as the flower of Galanthus.