A brew’r of hearts once offered me a phial,
Her fragile workings wrought with glass-tipped hands,
Brimming gold and glinting simmering smile;
It wafted cooling springs and lotuslands.
Her gentle fingers crushed our fateful flowers,
Enchanting them, and seven years surged back
In bottled blooms. Undo, O nightly hours!
You saw my tainted tongue poison it black.
But ere the deadly draught near stopped my heart,
A foggéd dream collects within my sight:
The far ’way face that Time has locked apart,
Her unblack tresses matching moonless height.
Hear, sweet witch, my soul’s lamenting plea
And fashion me the flask of saving remedy.

(written 12.3.18)

teeth bite sour tonic; smells like an ick in the brain
but every time the remedy’s killing, filling, thrilling
the same way the void does
i lick up my pain
we aren’t on the same plane
topography’s telling me you’re on a high in the sky
Icarus but you’re so afraid of the heights, the high
so you remain where you’ve lain
and if we do meet again you’ll understand
my roar, the demon rears its ugly head
snarling monsters need to be fed—
isn't that what you said?
pick up my tears, your fears, peer at it
look through the ribs, between the trees where it clears
porcupine needles poke through the glass
fast, fasting vastly
the lion, the witch, and the rat
. . . the plague . . .
shove those four words in my ears
. . . feed . . .
tell me i have an addiction, i know you think i need a prescription
but addicts have cunning actions
counting in fractions
my calculator consciousness, non-malfunctionable
demons fixed my wiring
salivating at the foul mouth,
i smell it but do not dare taste the plate
. . . neurons are firing . . .
you don’t know about all the horrors i face, caged, trapped in a place
where eyes are yellow and dim, bags purple and grim
snakes out on the limb
i’ll pluck the feathers out of your wings
you won’t need to climb to fall because the sun won’t do damage,
not when i know these things
you are weak, incapable, fell of a cliff
the wind, yes i know it is stiff
but you’ll find its so hard to resist
i’ll disassemble it all, but will it be enough for the monsters?
no, they want more than that
tell me i need to stop
tongue tastes like paper, touching the list
its dictating, telling the good from the bad
but sour lips will never be kissed
all alone in the garden, your body begins to turn rotten
i get to spend more time with the monsters that raised me
they praised me, they gave me
a savior
taught me to rid myself of you
crazed episodes become more intense
. . . repentance . . .
but i am alone in the garden now
demon on my shoulder, it pardons me as i fall to my knees
peer through the ribs, the void
and i say that i am happier
in the garden
among the demons and the dark fruit trees.

cursed with dark magic from taking the wrong path,
a girl made her way towards the masquerade ball.
many had told her not to take the shortcut,
but her shoes were blistering her heels and hurting her toes.

it was only a shortcut.

knocked out by a strong wind,
waking with no recollection of what happened,
she continued.

the ball was extravagant and many were there.
the crown prince was present
with his eye on the girl with the antelope mask.
how delicate it was made and how smooth the material was,
the beauty of her must be stunning from underneath.

they danced all night until the party began to die,
and it was then that the prince wanted to know the identity of his love.
but the mask was stuck tight to her face,
and embarrassed the girl.
she spoke about the shortcut,
and the prince knew.

his true love cried before him,
but his father would never let him marry a girl in a mask.
so she ran away with the treacherous thoughts in her mind,
with the crown prince shouting from behind.

she ran until her feet wouldn’t,
and found herself in the darkest parts of the forest.

kiss the angry rash at my throat
where the fires of melancholy
that burn inside me
have licked upward
like a witch burning
a witch
who burns herself
from the inside out

Have you seen the Goddess Moon tonight?
She rises flush, the color of ancient, bleached bone.
Magnified by her own regal-ness.
She hangs above the charcoal black tree tops.
Her reflective, pale light diminishing and
intensifying as her dress of wispy, threaded clouds
moves in front of her seraphic face.

Fae, built from shadows of canopy and the sound of twigs breaking, dance in the Moon's undulating radiance-- a reticent waltz.
Not far off-- from behind me, from in front of me,
I hear the fox cry and the coyote yip.
Then a call I can not identify, a rasping,
weighted down with mass and age.
A scraping made by heavy stones grinding together.
Perhaps it is the door of the Barrow opening.
Allowing one courtesan reveler to
come pay ancient homage to the Moon.  

A night-breeze blows out of the east
carrying the smell of Ipomoea and Almonds.
In her light the Oak and Maple leaves wave and shimmer.
The forest shakes its coat of green,
waking, after a long nap.
Enraptured, I stand, letting the poetry of the moment,
the master surrealist-- my own mind, paint
impossible murals of symbolic meaning
from what I observe.

Overhead her pale Majesty receeds up,
Her magnitude reducing as her distance increased.
I watch her go...
Have you seen the Goddess Moon tonight?

Thou are one witch I shall not see in the darkest places of our existence.
I will let thee drown in water, drown in thy sorrow and burn thy children. As there should be no continuance in thy existence. Thou are evil and filled with hatred.