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Alone in the dark
25 Wednesday Feb 2015
Posted Gargleblaster, Poetry, Writing
in25 Wednesday Feb 2015
Posted Gargleblaster, Poetry, Writing
inTags
19 Thursday Feb 2015
Posted Uncategorized
in19 Thursday Feb 2015
Posted Uncategorized
inI searched everywhere: behind the oak tree with the blemish
On its trunk, and the old cypress
Where the tractor sits at the end of the path where we got lost
Playing one summer day; me the fox and you the rabbit
Changing roles turn and turn about like the fluid
Sunlight that made long shapes of us on the ground
It must have gone to ground
Hiding its face like covering up a blemish
Or a beauty-mark, thick pinkish fluid
Coverup, then powders with names like “autumn” or “cypress”
Tested, each one, on a caged rabbit
With dark eyes, hardly born before it’s lost
I’m not sure how to find it, if it’s even lost
I’ve covered every inch of ground
Sniffed it out like the fox and the hound – I mean, the rabbit
That ran before us, vanishing into a blemish
In the mossy bank under the cypress
Where the creek huddled, more mud than fluid
Perhaps it can’t be found; it takes on more shapes, changing and fluid
And every time you find it, it just gets lost
Again, hidden away where the cypress
Makes shapes like lace on the ground
And the hills rise, each a blemish
In this evening field there’s not a single rabbit.
I am the rabbit
In the moon, I am the everchanging fluid
Shape of things, look at my white face without blemish
And hide your eyes or you’ll be lost
Just another stain on the ground
In the shadow of the cypress
The Romans lined the way with Cypress
Elm, pine, and hunted the woods clean of rabbit
Deer, partridge and all the small creatures who lived on the ground
So too the trout were chased from the fluid
Streams and rivers; we too are lost
The map is clean of path, road, blemish
Our love letters are written on the trunk of the cypress; they have faded to a blemish
The rabbit that roamed the fields has dug a maze and become lost
I cannot stand my ground in this light, silver and fluid.
Another sestina, prompted by six words from the sadistic editors.
12 Thursday Feb 2015
Posted Uncategorized
in11 Wednesday Feb 2015
Posted Poetry
inYour lips, my love, are red; your thighs are white
And purple where my fingers left their mark
Your curving hip is pale like candlelight
Your body is my shield against the dark
I think I taste you still upon my hands
The copper-iron sweetness of your kiss
And helplessly I yield to your demands
To consecrate my body with your bliss
My only comfort lies in your embrace
In all my life I wandered without rest
Until I saw the shadows of your face
And gave my heart its safety in your breast
And I, who was the Empress of desire
Have bound myself to burn upon your pyre
04 Wednesday Feb 2015
Posted Uncategorized
in04 Wednesday Feb 2015
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It was an unsettling dinner, I think, as I straighten my jacket and vest. And it’s going to be an even more unsettled night. The light buzz of the wine is almost gone and I briefly regret its absence – the wine as well as the intoxication – but there would never have been a more appropriate time to drink it, that last bottle liberated from the Governor’s cellar while above me Emmion Verril’s corpse danced in green firelight. Continue reading