fever head her
birch song wind
russet leaves dead
sleet ticktaps pines
as she stands strong
hear her, hear her
under the wood
alder sap & painted
hear her, hear her
underdark
underwood
shadowsonged
fever head her
blackthorn pricks
stone the river run
river under ice
and brambles strong
hear her...
this every stone turned
hides another lie
buried in permafrost
look to the other
find your heart within
chase the chill away
back against metal
frost skin bruised
waiting for the sun
concrete chipped cuts
those nylon nerves
screaming for the sun
i love you like
you don't love me while
dawning before the sun
flood homes we float
from staircase to stair
debris seeking alone
adrift, scattered words
waterstained india black
flowing as souls do wet
hands our fingers bite
sending words awry
breaking fountains
feathered
washing stone
Part reminder that I have moved to the new site here, part flash fiction, I posted this over at sceadugenga this morning. I’m reposting the flash fiction section here in case you have already changed your followed site to this one and removed the old site. If you read it at the old site, you won’t find much of anything new here unless I end up mucking about and start playing editor. I hadn’t intended to write flash fiction when I started the post at the old site, but that’s how it ended up.
If you haven’t already noticed, the lights have gone up and the bartender is calling “last call” to make you get the message, as if the ambiance change was not indication enough.
“Last call! Last call!”
Someone nudges you and you look down at the resident drunk, Louie. “Hey man, can you buy me a drink, I’ll pay you back nex–“
“Last call!”
(more…)