Tag: betwixt and between

  • ugly

    to fall of these
    deathshead moth dreams
    into something sweet,
    but i am so ugly

    chapped lips circus
    both cowboy clown & the geek 
    even if you tasted these
    i am still ugly

    wytching blind corridors...
    my putrescine chest
    if wee hours to rot
    leaves to ugly

  • chimère

    love bites & panty hip carved
    slips hand at small hour's mists
    lips, finger drawn & raw
    savage kiss fading in dawn

  • dream harder in dream

    handbound at nightfall
    hazel at the headwater we
    cast out drink up and dream

    i can only offer a dream harder
    for pan's skies and evermore
    a kiss in whispered secrets

    dream harder in dream

  • hidden

    they write your name on a cup
    then the cup is crushed, discarded
    in another gesture to a refuse kind of day

    hiding behind closed doors with
    all feathers turned to vane, whispering
    wishes breathlessly to the dim

    they will not know these ever for
    love lies bleeding in the snow
    rapiers quivering, too late for regrets

  • poppet on barbed wire

    come to me on wraith of wind
    come ancient through the wood
    poppet strung on barbed wire
    catch rag on bone, you should...

    sing song the barley wine
    kiss her a'fore the ruddy dawn
    poppet strung on barbed wire
    carve her stitched mouth drawn

  • ripsaw

    poplar crowing at height
    a city's dirty snow
    stretched out below me
    leaning into tumble
    for but to pray to fly—
    a ripsaw shredding harsh
    songs against the grain

  • hollows

    I am gnawing at black ice, waiting to become real while taking in all obsidian and injecting it in my veins. I would offer you a taste, but I can already see your shard eyes speak and say, “Oh, I had planned to offer you mine.” I would not want your generosity to go to waste. So I gnaw.

    Sure sure, I’ll be paid in token for my taking — coin coming in kisses melting on the wind. Scant warmth, that. But enough heat for a haint, when we black ice gnaw the typic nights, I expect.

    My twin blind eyes haze over when I look to the east. Hollows, I say to none… There is no Avalon.

  • horror story

    the horror is not being in
    the thrall of a leannán sídhe

    the horror is being not in
    the thrall of a leannán sídhe

    wraith wanderings,
    stoney moors on the
    crisp & hollow

  • drifts

    dragonfly cattail sunning
    in gentle summer winds
    watching my lips trace
    the curve of your calf
    to the plop of a turtle
    moving from sitting logs
    to taking plunge for a swim

  • torpor

    barefoot and slumber
    half under the covers
    the other half wrapped
    up in you

    tangle and torpor
    who cares for warm summers
    while a'winter in the
    afterglow of you