| SAGE |
Streets talk of the company
she keeps, playing a game of
faro, hoping to get silver for
her bribes.
Death calls to entertain the weak,
skulls of dead shamans set to fire
on a glowing pyre.
A carrion crow awaits, whispers
dark mantras, his black overcoat
too heavy to dissuade.
Lilies cry in yellow water, faint
moans mimic the mockery of her
life.
But nothing is too late. That’s why
she keeps sticking her fists in her
pockets looking for tomorrow.
she keeps, playing a game of
faro, hoping to get silver for
her bribes.
Death calls to entertain the weak,
skulls of dead shamans set to fire
on a glowing pyre.
A carrion crow awaits, whispers
dark mantras, his black overcoat
too heavy to dissuade.
Lilies cry in yellow water, faint
moans mimic the mockery of her
life.
But nothing is too late. That’s why
she keeps sticking her fists in her
pockets looking for tomorrow.
| Her Empty Plea |
| Beg of Night |
Alone in the night she marries the dark,
curve of memory behind her eyes
conceals secret regrets.
She parts brambles in the shadows where
skeletons ride bicycles that whisper to her
with voices flat and cold like the side of
a knife.
She struggles to keep from unraveling,
hoping joy will look out the window to let
her in.
She remembers the good like a drunkard
forgets, finding the dream never rescues the
maiden, her fate lying like loose quicksilver
on a nest of cracks.
curve of memory behind her eyes
conceals secret regrets.
She parts brambles in the shadows where
skeletons ride bicycles that whisper to her
with voices flat and cold like the side of
a knife.
She struggles to keep from unraveling,
hoping joy will look out the window to let
her in.
She remembers the good like a drunkard
forgets, finding the dream never rescues the
maiden, her fate lying like loose quicksilver
on a nest of cracks.
| Midnight Crossing |
At night I wake to silhouettes on the
walls, ghosts pointing empty sleeves
governing an appetite to quench.
Rumpled sheets map the peaks and
valleys of my life with a weariness that
follows the infinite ache of alone.
Sleep becomes a stranger allowing me
to view into a giant chasm with no
end in sight, only silent killers betting
on my grave.
I turn to face my mortality, grasping pieces
that try to fly away, eying the dead who
have sorrows of their own.
Walking on legs of lightning, I become
stronger at the broken places no longer
allowing yesterday to use up any more
of my tomorrows.
walls, ghosts pointing empty sleeves
governing an appetite to quench.
Rumpled sheets map the peaks and
valleys of my life with a weariness that
follows the infinite ache of alone.
Sleep becomes a stranger allowing me
to view into a giant chasm with no
end in sight, only silent killers betting
on my grave.
I turn to face my mortality, grasping pieces
that try to fly away, eying the dead who
have sorrows of their own.
Walking on legs of lightning, I become
stronger at the broken places no longer
allowing yesterday to use up any more
of my tomorrows.
