
wayfinding the fair
following the blood she
leaves for dolmen stones
to mark her where
for come november
when lovers lie claimed
entwined in her river flow
'til whispers call to wander
the burning fields won
under the forests below

wayfinding the fair
following the blood she
leaves for dolmen stones
to mark her where
for come november
when lovers lie claimed
entwined in her river flow
'til whispers call to wander
the burning fields won
under the forests below
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unconfidante but for
ravens and crows
campfires and ghosts
gone blind due to reading
gone silent for song
conspiracy and murder
have taken all tongue
broken fingerbones
have stolen all tone
shh, now childe
sleep within sedges at
green gone wild
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I’ll admit it: I’ve been binging The Walking Dead again.
If I want to pretend to be an intellectual, I’d say it was research into human nature in the face of an apocalypse. I have not recently seen evidence in real life that suggests that people will act differently than their fictional counterparts if they were faced with a zombie (or any kind of, really) apocalypse. Zombies in TWD might be the overt threat, but the real monsters are other people. The Witcher games and books, fantasy tales about a “monster hunter” mutant named Geralt of Rivia play the same tune. Horrifying creatures are a real threat, but the true monsters are us.
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not fuzzy
not prickly
more prickly fuzz
or fuzzy prickles
in a world full
of shoeboxes to
put these things
within
those left over
cast sparse
in the backyards
of the dream
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forgetting how to read
my books given to tinder
and letters gone to rust
a kiss the only verse
i know
i might refrain your eyes
on hours, if howevers allow
over endless ribbons
on sky's raven road
do your stars
cut at flesh
when caught
on the fall?
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