broketooth me at
fore of the storm
windshouting with
flint scrapeskinned
fingers instead of words
shrieking hoar at
devils in suits
eyetaken & ragblind
stained of empty to hollow
unsure if any can hear
these ribbonrent screams
Category: writing
windshouting
ossuary
dry rot these bones mine
stolen blind from the pile
etched & inked in
india & cinnabar to bleeding
to carve away all dreaming
to flint shave all song
a withered heart on
an ashen altar
waiting for a glint
of flameMasochism world
Photo by Maxim Hopman on Unsplash There was a guy one of my tattooist used to regularly tattoo. It turned out his client was not getting inked, but just getting tattoos for the sensation they gave him.
“Is he just a masochist,” I asked, having immediately decided it must be true.
“Not really,” said the Brain, as his typo’d business card proclaimed. “He doesn’t much care for pain. I think he is actively trying to avoid pain.”
“Explain,” I asked, befuddled, wincing as he hit the nerve bundle near my armpit. “Do you not use needles either?”
The Brain frowned. “Of course I use needles. He’s getting a tattoo.” He held my bicep firm to prevent me from flinching and messing up his linework.
“So… why no ink?” I said, taking a drag on my cigarette, for this was back when you could smoke while getting a tattoo.
“He doesn’t want it to stick around more than scar tissue.”
“So… Why get one at all if he doesn’t like ink?”
“He says it makes his pain go away” said the Brain.
“Riiiight,” was my incredulous response. “Oh-kay.”
The Brain shrugged. “His business, I just follow his direction.”
Welcome to masochism world, I thought to myself. Definitely a masochist.
It is years later, arthritis and old injuries later. The Brain’s client was right. Pain washes the pain away.
It’s too expensive and no one will agree to doing tattoos without ink anymore, however. They just nod and you can see it in their eyes: Welcome to masochism world.
casting runes — 31jan26
ingwaz there are times
all life is as dream
with every line
blurred between
when all i want to do
is sleepA rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.
Today’s rune is ingwaz, a rune named after the god Ing or Freyr. It is representative of a channeled energy or transformational process. It is also be seen as the male component of life, and therefore a symbol of sexual passions and the contributed “seed” of life (and, therefore, an aspect of one’s ancestral ørlǫg, or fate/destiny). Some interpretations conceive the rune as a symbol of darkness, solitude or dreaming.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
jigsaw daze
my madness song at
yellow paper tigers
stretching from walls
i arm claw trying
to find a way out
all the while
grinding glass teeth
& chewing at tinsel
i have earned my way
to straw dog state &
mantic ghosts of that
neverpast & nevermore, sing:
shake shake shake dog shake
an ugly break at mirrors
in these jigsaw daze
no one could know
there would be
so much
bloodcasting runes — 30jan26
pertho what does this
stormwashed beach offer?
let us toss bones, rattle teeth,
carve our skin &
slip with the undertow;
what treasures we may find...A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is pertho, which has a disputed meaning and there is some indication that any proposed meanings might be based on a corrupted interpretation. The general consensus is that there is likely some relationship to ørlǫg (fate/destiny), luck/gambling or perhaps hidden knowledge.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
mantra
...michael don't dream
michael don't dream
michael don't dream
michael don't dream
michael don't dream....Twilight aching
Photo by Cornelia Munteanu on Unsplash She covers me in twilight aching, as filtered by summer leaves. Shadowed within shadows gloaming slips down, descends, pours over me.
Blind to consequence, she moves through the weald seamless, with feet drifting on wraith. A kiss on my grey lips passing, breath crisp to the taste and pale fingers linger mists on cheek before she wisps away.
I am wicker-bound by convention though the distance moves well beyond time.
Flint for my eyes, sharp, though always blind I must be. They scrimshawed my bones to mask the words from me. Lips set to suture, to trap my voice to me.
Waiting on the fires, mists’ kiss watching, twilight aching over me.
casting runes — 29jan26
kenaz burning on the inside
seeking cooling ground
to draw this feverdream
from head to stoneA rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.
Today’s rune is kenaz, which has been translated as both “torch” and “ulcer” . It is conceived as symbolic of flame, which is the illuminated creativity as well as the source of purification/healing/cautery. Fire is a a source of transformation and unmaking as well as heat, passion and light. As an ulcer, kenaz can be associated with a fever or inflammation, perhaps a wound which requires healing.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
recollection
do you recall wrists
bound in sailor's knot or
was that only wraith?
memories from mists or
merely smoke & mirrors?
tell me true, did years burn?
beautiful darkling,
do you recall the gloaming
of our changeling time?
