
burnout the asphalt mind
seeking speed, some racer x
to leave those wending roads
in rearview and see
naught but yellow in dripfeed
fading behind to paradise
wind screaming much like
his voice in the void as
he leaves this world behind

burnout the asphalt mind
seeking speed, some racer x
to leave those wending roads
in rearview and see
naught but yellow in dripfeed
fading behind to paradise
wind screaming much like
his voice in the void as
he leaves this world behind
your winter taste
in dreamkiss
paints me in din
let this shamble sing
in threes without waking
i never want to leave

having gone to drift
through silt grit flowing
and glaring being strange
on whenever the wind goes
left at the car burning low
under a stormfront rumble
the first fat raintears at
the mourn's thin passing
at cigarette's ruddy glow—
sleepwalking the story's end
how we wish, if only...
if only

sometimes the then seems
are not really any things at all
but other seems unconsidered
that beckon with their call, so
now back to the la-z-boy and
the rocking and the nights, dreaming
new oaks from acorns alone
but no, no, don't let seams show
keep all those seems deep inside

she waves at the threshold
waiting to close the door
until i finally show sense & cross
over to her stone winters within
A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is dagaz, which has been translated as “daybreak”, that transitional moment between night and day. By extension, it might also be interpreted as “twilight” and is representative of liminality, transformation, the space between worlds, and suggests walking in both the material world and otherworld.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
turning towards headstones
these broken days we, under
the curtains green falling
& lost in the dream
stolen kiss on the cheek
in the nip of first frost
woolen the warmth
given your arms around
another nordeast night
chasing phantoms
through busy streets
hands in hand
feet never touching ground
as the crowds gather 'round
for the samhain fires
would the i could
i would be larking
there still

i wonder if a part if me
is lost there on the path
seeking blaze left behind
either to or away from
recalling both nervous
and tremble hands
she wore over coffee
at the allnight café
cigarettes smoke
staining the dim lights
as stained as either's
reputations unsaved
i wonder if this dying
had any point at all
save for another branch
lost on a meandering path
leading towards
redemption or none