Clover fields
and sun-drenched skies,
wispy clouds,
they are but lies.
Everyone
is shrill, is cold–
nothing’s real,
they’ve lost their souls.
Smiling kids
with viper’s fangs
ring their bells–
for death, they clang.
Lovers in
their secret rooms
turn to dust
inside their tombs.
Nations rise
while others fall
but this time
death comes for all.
Shadows play
before my eyes,
whispering
what next will die.
Go along
and play your games
while the world
erupts in flames.
7-7-19
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.
3-21-19
A crow caws
From the skeletal branches
Of the dying tree before me.
It jutts out,
Spear-like,
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
Ratatoskr,
Carrying insults
Between the eagle
And the serpent.
I try to shout at him,
Tell him to stop,
But my mouth is dust–
Gritty,
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.
Fevered,
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.
3-19-19
A small
rip,
then a little
tear,
and then another,
and the next thing I know
shredded
bits
go flying through
the air,
like a blizzard
of blood
kicking up ragged bits
of my obliterated
heart.
There is something
almost magical
in the
horror
and the beauty
of the remnants of my soul
as they lazily drift
to the ground
in sharply defined
stillness,
one so still,
even Echo herself
has fled.
The screams are gone now,
as are the tears;
I can find no more
inside me,
just a hazy maroon
sunset
of blood in light
fading into the darkness,
and the smell of
rot.
6-14-18
The cockroach scampers
over a half-eaten
apple
on the altar.
The sick-sweet stench
of rot
hangs thick,
like a noxious
mist.
The air is littered
with dying things.
The wind shrieks
and there is a whirring
in my ears.
I can not keep
my balance.
Everything
breaks down
around me;
a rolling process
separating
what is
into less and less
substantial
forms.
I can taste the stale
mold,
dusty and choking,
its spores
filling my lungs.
I greet
Her–
the reality behind
life’s illusion;
its nourishment,
its origins,
as well as its
endings.
5-3-18
Monkshood,
Would you dance with me?
Beloved aconite,
I would swim within your arms,
and never would I fight.
Lay me down in bitter sleep,
Take me to my dreams.
Let the world be ripped asunder,
Nothing’s what it seems.
6-15-14
Shattered Mindspace 