The Foundations

It’s all


We ignored the cracks,

now rebar whines

somewhere deep inside,

and the foundations begin

to groan.


A cloud crosses

before the moon,

and I wonder how close

Hati is to him now.

Someday he’ll be caught.

The wolf will


the moon,

in the end.


Even the music

has faded.

Each note blurs into

the next,

as they all rush past,

without notice.


Everything reeks of mildew

and rot.


I hear crows

in the distance,

and the foundations

groan louder.


It’s time to wake up,

dear ones,

or we’re lost.




Momoa (parody of Simon and Garfunkel’s Cecilia)

I woke up to find Jason Momoa from Game of Thrones had shaved his face and Twitter subsequently exploded. So, being a big dork, I had to make a cheesy parody. With all my serious, and often dark, writing, here’s a chance for you all to get a good laugh at something I post. I put this together really fast, so forgive me for the quality. Enjoy 🤪 (and yes, I just realized I’m pronouncing his last name a bit wrong 🤣)


Cultural Graveyard

The roiling masses

scoop ashes of yesterday

into purses of gold,

as they crawl through fog

unaware of its caustic fumes.


The scent of lavender

and a glint of emerald light

sneak out from cracked-stone monuments

to dead and misplaced dreams.


In the distance

A low wail begins.




A Haunted Imago

You seep through my veins

and my mask shifts to accomodate.

The past is swollen, bloated,

yet they worship it,

so we hide in alleyways

surrounded by decaying things–

A haunted Imago,

and misshapen wings.




Night has Fallen

A cradle lay abandoned

in a darkening room,

as one by one a dozen candles

expire near a forgotten shrine.


A bird of prey

perches atop a barren olive branch–

Lord of a dying habitat.

Night has fallen.



A Lodestone Abyss


I am drawn to the edge–

Iron flakes

To a lodestone abyss.


(I want to fall)


The cliff.

Toes grasp

The sharp stone boundary

Between land and air.


(I want to fall)


My pulse quickens

And I am alive.

Every cell inside me

Hums electric.


(I want to fall)



Back and forth,

I feel the lodestone

Pull me.


(I want to fall)


I hear voices

Far in the distance

Whispering dark warnings

Of gravity.


(I want to fall)


And yet…

And still…


(I want to fall)


I lean forward,

Just a bit,

And then some more.



(I want to fall)



I stare into the chasm

Restrained by a

Dissipating fear.


(I want to fall)


The lodestone pulls harder.

The whisper fades.

I close my eyes

And leap.


(But can I fly?)





Writhes inside me

Daring me to let go.

I drop to the cold earth and scream–

I’ve lost.


After the Rope Breaks

A crow caws

From the skeletal branches

Of the dying tree before me.

It jutts out,


From the rocky waste

Where I lie broken.


A squirrel scampers up and down

Its rotten trunk,

And in my fog

I think he is


Carrying insults

Between the eagle

And the serpent.


I try to shout at him,

Tell him to stop,

But my mouth is dust–


And tasting of chalk.

All that comes out

Is a sputter.


The world spins.

I heave and retch

From the coppery scent

Of coagulation

Filling my nostrils.



I look to the tree,

Searching for Hangi,

But there is just a dying tree,

And no secrets,

This time,

To pull from the well.




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