can we speak plain
cos i have forgotten
how to speak
and the words lost
all meaning in
the fog of dream
anyway
we needs must find
them again
we sought meaning
in rootsoil and mycelium
turned over understone
beseeched the sky
(i think you know why)
and whispered to crows
for their insight
and as for our meddle?
we still sit speechless
about all the things
under the oak tree
under the wings
come, kiss me
to spoken, my dear,
under a turquoise sky
The following is a lightly-edited fragment of a what was intended to be a longer bit of fiction I wrote in January 2015. I found it while looking for old files on a portable HDD to see how hard it would be to recreate “Rust” from my post yesterday. No dice… yet, anyway. I may be looking for the wrong filename and it could be under another name entirely. The song I referred to as “Myrrh” (which is only one of many “Myrrh”-titled songs I’ve worked on) is actually fully intact and on my modern DAW, so I might have to share that (with vocals!) once I decide what those lyrics should be. But, on with the story… I’ll say a bit more about this piece after the fragment.
The smell of excrement, rot and chemicals rose from the waters as the barge Vivienne and Llewellyn were riding floated across the River Strife to the slaughter yards south of the river. The copper smell of fresh blood drifted over the other smells and Llewellyn had to choke back a the bile that threatened to add to the miasma of roiling in the dark twilight waters below.
“Good gods, how does anyone deal with this stench on a daily basis?” he asked no one in particular, and didn’t expect to get a response. He covered his face with a handkerchief.
(more…)
i rest my head at
the hill of dreams
waiting there for
the ghost of you
in that slipshadow
your hand on my hip is
my hand on your hip
cutting the twilight
of midnight under
a lazy summer moon
hanging low enough
to grasp if but
for only slender hours
before is slips behind
an ashen veil of dream
i am inside her inside me
and you cannot cannot see
for the fog obscured of her
mists and dark moon we
both dance naked beneath
as i am her of inside me
this is not a broken
this is just how the we
under red the apple tree
to come with her as
she comes with me
long that road & more
i still do not know
where it will lead
i have my doubts that
the path heads north
i still do not know
our hands become expressions
reflections of our thoughts
feathering fans before eyes
fingers return to masks
long that road & more
i still do not know
what we will find in end
i still do not know
desert undressing
her dune shifting sand
under night chill waxing
painted in badland tone
she slips beneath shadows
of her whispered song
longing to hold you
to her heart
all at grindylow
and howling moon
with the wind
bash this smash this
burning head
towards the in
my fingers spark
flint like iron
my heart burns
at blood within
all at grindylow
and howling moon
with the wind
regret the mirror ugly
spider cracked look back
past pig gaping jaw
to claw that face off
fade skies out black
we break everything
until there is only empty
straining again the fade away
but whatever reason for?
transparent to the oblivion already
a silent walking phantasmagoria
but raspy ghast my hollow voice
left to knockers 'twixt walls tapping
aimless wander alone