WithinCrookedWithin by Eremitik
I walk, limping
Perspective twisting to fit,
Visions of the world,
Of people and Myself,
Through broken Oak leaves
That hide shadows,
Smiles and intentions
And how I wish I understood
What it means,
To Live,to Love,
With a full heart
Unafraid and unashamed
Shades of White--C.Nana's hands were like my Sunday best—Shades of White--C. by betwixtthepages
an ivory kerchief and a blue pocket square;
she used to knit me sweaters,
but the spaces between her knuckles
closed in and made her ache.
Her hands vibrated like the cell phones
she refused to use.
Dad said she was a hassle
and it was costing more to keep her alive
than it would to pay for a funeral-
but I couldn't bear to picture her
ivory skin against ebony caskets
so I hired myself to love her.
She sat at her vanity,
spine ramrod straight
from years of choir
and tight corsets,
and told me stories
of her schoolyard days
as I braided Mother of Pearl
and white feathers
through her hair.
her voice satin
as the pads of my fingers
stroked the folds
of her blouse,
"don't let the world change you.
I promised her,
knowing part of me was already blemished
it'd break her heart to know
though I didn't regret the quenching of my curiosity.
I learned a lot darkening the white:
what I need, and
Seashell ComfortsI carry the memory of youSeashell Comforts by betwixtthepages
like a seashell in my pocket;
when I get too confident,
too complacent in myself,
I pull you out,
hold you to my ear
and let you remind me
how unworthy I've always been.
Circus GodsSmall GodsCircus Gods by betwixtthepages
the map of time
the night circus
born of silence.
Tell Me What You've Gone and Done NowIt seems like everybody writes about romance,Tell Me What You've Gone and Done Now by betwixtthepages
the murmurs left behind,
the lonely strength of men,
the evolution of goodbye.
There will be times when I tell you I can't
be a number on a list.
I was what you are, once--
the dying star of a memory--
but you must have mistaken me
I can bring your candle to glitter again,
but I can't be your oxygen.
Yes, my bed's a single--
where did you sleep last night?
Cars don't FlyAs you may or may not know I am a police officer.
A Trooper in my home state of Texas.
I have been one for 35 years.
One never forgets their first time. This is a story of my first pursuit.
A warm late September day 1985.
I was part of a state wide operation. A Trooper every ten miles clean across Texas.
My day was going fine.
I was on Interstate 10 out in far West Texas.
I was prepping for the end of the shift......going home.
But such is not always the way.
I observed them at local road side rest area.
Sometimes one may have to relieve themselves road side.
However I draw the line at facing traffic while doing it in the open.
They saw me and ran to their car.
I turned to go back basically to have a stern discussion with them about being civil.
They accelerated out of the parking area spitting gravel.
I quickly caught them.
I was not in a real hurry. There were three of them and only one of me but I knew just a few miles was another Trooper to assist me.
I did the usual run the tag to
To Be a Man What’s it mean to be a man? Well, let’s start out simple and get the bravado out of the way.
Being a man is being tough. It’s having calloused hands and wind burned cheeks. It’s working from the crack of dawn until after the moon rises. It’s about sweating and breaking your back and getting dirty. It’s about speaking your mind without reservation or concern for what that does. It’s about being strong and thick-headed, making sure that words never truly reach you, and your words never really mean anything. It’s about having a beer at every meal and drinking your coffee black. It’s about being as similar to a rock as you can be.
But there’s more to it than that.
Women are taught to be concerned about their looks, but men can get away with a grimier appearance, so long as provision is mad
grow up they saidhere's what it is to be an adult
you pay off your credit cards
and a day later, your hot water heater is no longer working and is leaking all over your garage
you didn't bother to research options
so when you finally realize you can get a cheaper alternative to your fancy coffee drink
you've probably 'wasted' at least $75. on coffee.
you buy things on other peoples' recommendations
and are quickly disenchanted
either with the things, the people, or just buying things in general
you stop hearing
or is it listening
and the magic settles into your bones instead of your eyes
and sparks up at new moments, the baby's laugh,
the way your husband grips your face when you're sobbing, suddenly terrified of everything,
a dog's sloppy lick on your ankle
I Brake for Rhinoceros
Warning: I brake for rhinoceros. That's what the bumper sticker on the pickup in front of me said. What I found odd was not that this was on I-25 between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, but that I thought rhinoceros should be plural, like rhinoceroses or maybe rhinoceri. I didn't know that the plural of rhinoceros is rhinoceros, because I was surrounded on all sides by cactus plants known in the aggregate as cacti. So that seemed a good bet. Braking for rhinoceros didn't seem as odd as the highway signs that say things like Caution: Watch For Water or Gusty Winds May Exist. There is even a large official-looking road sign near my house that says: Lizard Crossing. True enough everywhere around here, but try seeing one on the street ahead of you in the explosively bright afternoon sun with waves of heat shimmering over the road.
The idea that one brakes for rhinoceri tickled me, as tumbleweeds often seemed just as formidable charging across the h
My Sister's DollsI used to take my sister’s Barbie dolls without permission. I liked her dolls better than mine. And I wanted them because their hair was so pretty like the blond curls of the sun. Rays of light in my five year old sky. All the clothes were still stitched together as if right out of the box and into my thieving hands. So I took them. And I’d play with them until I broke them or I was told to give them back. And I’d get extensive and intricate talks on what was right and wrong. But five year olds don’t understand what that means. My only thought was: I want this, and I have the ability to get this. So why shouldn’t I go get it? What’s stopping me? Nothing. Nothing, I’d say. And so I went and I got them and I played with them. I was happy. I was not confused. I knew. But I didn’t know.
“Give your sister her dolls back.” My mom would say. Her face was stern and her eyebrows furrowed. I’d take notice of the creases and I
this weaknessi am soft and weak.
my mother once told me
she wished she had a curvier body (while looking at mine),
but i'm only rounded edges because i hold fat that i
cannot turn to muscle;
i am weak because i am weak,
my heart is full of self pity and selfishness.
i stand in the hot shower, not wanting to
move at all because i sense no point in acting. i
stare at the fogged up glass and the condensation
dripping down the crying mirror, fat droplets, sad and heavy like i am.
lethargy dominates the bathroom, paces about the shower,
presses me against the wall and licks my bare skin with his dusk tongue.
i feel ten types of happiness, while rooted to the tile.
simealtanously, i am colored in twenty hues
of anguish, only because i deny movement (i refuse myself,
i am my own stray animal).
i am monochromatic, and weak,
and insanely, impossibly euphoric all at once:
this what heroin does to people.
i believe (it gets us killed, belief) i have a high pain tolerance,
but do i dare test that hypoth
The Gravity of Bad DecisionsSometimes I decide I don't love you.
I know I'm wrong.
But I knowingly make bad decisions all the time.
And sometimes deciding I don't love you just proves to me how I will never be able to stop, because even when I'm not loving you, I do.
It almost pisses me off how I can't get you out of my head sometimes because before you I was doing fine and having a dependency is a weakness and I can't be weak. I can't let my gender, my age, my stature, my physical fitness fit me into that stereotypical box society is so fond of.
Deciding I don't love you doesn't mean I hate you. I can't hate you and this is something I know deep down, a true fact, like gravity exerts fourteen pounds of pressure per square inch, even though I've never tried to hate you, just like I've never measured the true pressure of gravity against my skin.
I only deal with gravity in other forms, allowing the scientific one to do what it wants with my square inches. The gravity of situations
Witch On The TerraceShe watches from her balcony
as wicked boys kick a soccer ball
around a field of grass.
It is familiar at least.
Her bones long for sunlight
though the roof casts her in shadow,
but it’s probably better that way
she knows. Too much light
on too many ghosts
is never good for anyone.
She sips her coffee
without too much sugar,
she keeps it bitter inside,
grimacing to no one
with a self-inflicted punishment.
It seems apt.
Her eyes flick over the boys;
they kick and spit
laughing as they push each other.
This too seems apt.
Higher in trees birds sing,
in the distance a siren chirp.
So everything is just as it should be.
From her balcony two young lovers pass below;
hand in hand, their voices light.
She thinks of roses and bouquets.
She thinks of rice and ashes.
She recalls the roll of the sea
and the pull of its tide
and how the dead doth float.
She recalls that once upon a time
the starry sky stretched to infinity,
but the blue firmament is flat as glass today.
She can’t stand
Now and ThenI can remember when we were children
And we would look up at the world
Great and big and full of nonsense
And we would dream the dreams
That only the young can hold onto
And we would stare up at the sky
Wondering what made stars shine
And we held tight to our hopes
We thought we could live forever
And we ran hard against that wind
Thinking we could persevere somehow
And we carved our names where we could
Rocks and trees and concrete streets
And our letters would never fade away
Even after we’re but dust again
And now we’ve all grown up
Our dreams somewhere between now and then
And, if you wouldn’t mind
I’d ask you to take my hand once more
And we’ll find our dreams on the path of before
The sum of whom we have lovedTears lick at my consciousness
A sick sensation of loss and understatement
A stream of weakness that lingers deep
Inside as the cracks form inside my mind...
I try to navigate away from the pain
A strain that torments my dreams with memories..
The thoughts of who I wanted to be
Who I am and who I longed to be with...
The swirling memories
Of those who have left their imprints upon my soul
A never ending stream of people whose very existence
I am still aware of, and whose light I can never escape..
When I close my eyes their whispers, heartbeats, hopes and dreams
swirl into my consciousness and for a moment I am locked inside their hearts
Then the sun wakes me from my slumber and I am torn away..
My heart laced with the pain of every scar, every imprint and every memory..
I wish I could to turn to ICE
But with a word they would melt me back
Perhaps that's all we are, the
Smoke in the sky I don't believe in fate,
If I did I'd look up at the stars,
And tell you I see
Our future written between them
I don't believe in ghosts,
If I did I'd listen more closely
To the knocking at the window
And say "there, something out to haunt you"
I'd say I don't believe
In what I can't see,
But then the breeze would only be
A whisper, that's taking my breath away
Would be words on a page
Smoke in the sky
flat white linesall these words in all these languages
and yet none swan dive off my tongue for you
carrion rots on the roadways
and miles mean nothing to corpses
cold, stiff or otherwise
is it somehow comforting to know
comfort is a mockery?
Philosophy of the November night skyAre the stars not, somehow
the facilitators of our evolution?
And if they are,
is that not just one step away
from calling them
adventure may hurtI tell myself I’m adventurous, I’m tough. I’d survive if I ran away from home and had to sleep on streets, cold. I could take prostitution and drug deals. The truth is, the worst thing I’ve done is buy twenty pounds’ worth of weed in a poorly lit playground one night in February. It should have been a golden night, instead it looked like two stripes of once-red brick and an endless stretch upward of sightless atmosphere. There might have been stars but I don’t know.
Next morning, I had back-ache and my own vomit dried into my hair. I woke up on a sofa to the bellow of my friend’s hair dryer at midday; spent the afternoon looking at the ceiling in confusion and eating chicken nuggets. Through a lens of brutal clarity, I see a night spent twitching, eyes closed and worrying the universe wasn’t real, or worse: that it was real and outside of its dimensional bubble, I was floating in the nothing, hell.
Blink i. I was born with those;
glass bones and paper skin,
Whisky eyes that glow underneath
( I hang onto this )
My Pitiful existence, like a dewdrop on a spider's web
ii. ( Really i want nothing )
More than to just fade away with the rising of the sun
; with everything i know and have become used to
Are all these little things that are part of me
iii. Ive been waiting for a realisation that will never come,
And maybe, ( just maybe) , if i could i would
carve out and bite my own heart
Because i am a girl made of blood stains and atomic waves, and when i blink i hide all the glitches that shiver, that shudder like water on an electric screen, eclectic dream,
The fissures that colour my spine
iiii. i wasnt built like a robot, to talk with automated words that make no sense, to me,
I was made to s c r e a m,
i wasnt made to hide behind paper wings, a whisper on your puppet strings,
Ignorance is BlissI'm afraid
That we're estranged
In the same room
I don't know you
Don't know if I want to.
And your heart
Has a hole in it
From lack of satisfaction
Because you hold that thing there
Carry it like the selfishness in you
It's a place where you break your emotions
So that you may be a rock
Sometimes I crawl in it
I try and pry something out of you
Receding feelings disappear quickly though
Try and pull something, anything out of your emptiness
And by the way
You aren't good at your job
But you know that, don’t you?
You bring me nothing
Except my old habits on a silver platter
So I’ll take them and swallow them one by one
Become the girl I was because nobody else has changed anyways.
We're faint bodies lacking everything at our cores
We’re estranged in the same room
So say nothing.
I'll pull your strings down to the ground
Rip them to shreds
Because I might be afraid of you
And that’s a bad thing.
I wish I loved you.
You hinder yourse
Cause To PonderThe cursor mocks her on the screen. A myriad of “what ifs” rages though her already tired brain as she keeps her sealed lips between her teeth. Her lips are always chapped, frayed bits of invisible flesh constantly flaking, a metaphor for how she feels at each new stab. Another wound, another scar, another displaced fleck of flesh in the dark she keeps alone and to herself.
The cursor blinks. She has not yet responded with the words she needs. Simple conversation between the lines. It feels shallow comparatively.
Friendships shouldn’t be tested. Boundaries shouldn’t be breached. She needs to remember to keep her desires to herself. No one can “help” her now. Sometimes things just get out of hand, and there’s no coming back from here. She thinks of life preserves labeled “Titanic.”
She doesn’t think of knights in shining armor. But damaged and dirty, tabards torn and windblown as the smoke billows from behind the battered battl
1. Driving fast, no lights in the pitch black. Frantically looking for a driveway to pull into, whipping in, slamming the car into park, cutting the engine, diving into the floorboard and watching the lights of the car behind me play over the dash as my pursuer turns onto the street. Knowing my advantage was a small one, hoping they'll pass me by. Giggling when I realize they're gone and sitting back up to crank the car. "Suckers." Sometimes movie tricks work. Cops should pay attention.
2. Worry, worry, worrying until I pull the skin off my fingers, pull my hair out, eat too much, exercise too little, make myself sick, give myself nightmares, make myself cry, and still never having peace of mind unless someone else gives it to me.
3. The frenzy of his voice on my nerve endings, soothing, electric, sensual; leaving me on the edge, gasping, ready to beg him for another word to finish me off. The feeling of breathless anticipation, flying high, waiting for his comm
The Old Fisherman: DAILY DEVIATIONThe old fisherman pulled in his nets as chill salt wind stung chapped lips. There were but few small fish to feed his thin, weathered frame. It mattered not. He bore no wife at home, no child at hearth to roam. He was alone.
The fog hid land from view as he pulled at the water-sodden oars, but this too mattered not to the old fisherman. He knew the way home. The fish he would roast o’er stone and fire with potatoes he’d grown in soil of his small plot. A lob of pork-fat would make his feast, and within his gut did growl at the very thought. He whistled a tune to cover the sound as he lent his back to plow the waves.
A resounding tune came to his ear, of maiden’s voice clear as bells. The old fisherman cocked his head to hear, such lullaby as to bring a tear. The sound it seemed pulled at his very heart strings. It made the old fisherman lean to his starboard side with oar and ear, to this he must better hear. The song, the tune, was some such melody as to draw him hit
You never got the summer from a storm cloud And there is nothing louder than this,
My thunder heart
Flooded lungs , oh , there's rain overflowing from me
I'm chained, changed, my heart is a nuclear weapon,
I'm here, stretching out my hands; clear up to the sun,
But you never get water out of a desert,
You never got the summer
From a storm cloud
Is this what it feels like?
to stand in the ocean
With both feet just a little underwater
And ~ s c r e a m ~
Darling, I was born with stars in my eyes,
Who was born to find them?
Look, here comes a shark to swallow me whole
A circling silver slice,
Here comes the moon to send us to sleep,
A circle, a sliver of ice
But (these days, It's the only thing keeping me awake ,
and I watch from the outside, always the outside),
the Windows are closed .
hear me? (You can't, I'm here) Hear me
PiecesWhen the light of many only barely known eyes and the feeling of dirty hands had faded, when the mornings naked by the open window sensing a hint of spring in the wind had run by like a passing train, I realized that the flowers I had grown in my hair had changed from vivid hues of red into a pale white clouded by dust and cobwebs.
I had given a sample of myself to all passers-by, little pieces of my heart to everyone, until its entire surface was covered in dark blue bruises. They put the pieces in their pockets and enjoyed them like breath mints, absentmindedly and comfortably on their way to work. I just watched them go.
ExileI have seen a forest of claws, heard the reeds ring like metal wands. From between the boughs I have gazed a heavy moon. Bandages made of saddening news lay torn on the rough concrete.
Through darkened clouds made of charcoal dust, a pale bird of prey looks for mice hiding in the cracks. I have counted lost messages cutting tally marks in my palms. Every day a mile further from an oasis, only my lone footprints a dashed line in the snow.
When I stand in the middle of the empty road where they broadcast a deadly song, I feel calm like a stone in a storm. Taking a side path and a hidden door I might find poets scribbling prayers on their yellowed notebooks. It is not a good time to remember.
White-eyed deer wander on three legs under the hanging electrical lines. I have spoken to god in hushed tones, asking for the name of the desert where his tent was pitched. There we meet in twos and leave in halves, bones showing under the whitened skin.
Embalmed with lighter fluid, I walk towards fi
Another PursuitAnother day, another pursuit.
Theft of gas was usually a give away that the vehicle involved was probably stolen.
Our point on Interstate 10 in Ozona was a gas point from El Paso and Houston. Most vehicles on a full tank would be running out about our area. Its easy to steal gas and run in cities. Hard to find. Too much traffic. Now out where I was.....there was a road going north and south and one going east and west. That was it. 5000 square miles with about 3000 folks all living in one town.
The gas theft was no different than the others.
The vehicle was last seen going west at a high rate of speed. I was in my little Mustang out west about 15 miles. A good area to work. Wide open. Could see for miles. I saw the vehicle coming up. Fit the description with three males. One in the back immediately ducked out of sight as I turned to begin the dance.
You see I am not a dumb Trooper. I am more patient than most. My military training taught me that. I knew things were going out further we
Fire and IceDonuts and coffee, being a cop is easy. Yeah, right. Read on.
The cause of the accident was immaterial.
It was on a massive four lane divided highway out in the vastness of West Texas.
The lone driver was pinned at the waist by twisted metal, steering column, wires, and plastic. He could not be moved but he was alive.
That was the horrible part.
While attending him waiting for rescue which was still over 40 minutes away, I heard the word........fire.
I ran from him to my unit pulling out the every ready fire extinguisher we carry.
I ran to fire engaging the extinguisher.
It went off in a mighty......poof and went stone dead. More paper weight than help now.
The fire was fuel fed from the gas tank area. There two other persons there with me, a young man and his new wife who frantically began using their hands to throw dirt as the fire grew and grew quickly.
I smelled it then.....burning flesh.....oh my god......
Running back to the other side I grabbed his arms pulling him with all I ha
The Reality of UsOpen hearted, surgical
Love's only chemical
With injected poison, cynical
Our autopsy's clinical
Within this crushing epidemic
Destruction is systemic
Behind a face that shines angelic
Happiness turns to relic
A whispered promise scattered
Bruised skin remains battered
Obliterating what mattered
As dreaming finally shattered
Life on RepeatBetween mistakes
We sit paralysed and
watch the days float
There are tears here
Just the way it used to be
And we quietly, still
Bleed our hearts away
Katherinethe nights are long in this tower alone
you've wrapped me around your spokes and broken me a piece at a time
it was a beautiful torture, rapturous, divine
you left me writhing in ecstasy
but you took all my love, all my life, when you left
dirty little stars, toy soldier heartsTell me, what do you think about when
the debutante moon has lost her charm
and there's nothing on TV to keep you up past 11 o'clock?
Do your eyes glaze over, remembering
how I used to hold your head on my knee and rake my fingers
through your yellow hair, baby?
Does your chest burn like a joint in the night
with the absurd memory of my mouth pressed to
your shadowy abdomen under turquoise plastic stars?
David, it was heaven, making you come undone!
You were dirty and beautiful; a clean-cut little
show choir first date gone wrong.
And I know I said you weren't my type when we met
but you've managed to get under my skin
and if I were being completely honest,
I'd have to admit that no other drunken lover
could make me feel the absence of gravity
like you did on that sure-fire mattress
in the afterglow of sex and freedom.
We talked about The Great Perhaps
and other poetic garbage and you
said that writers make the easiest crushes,
but David, are you ignoring this
moment on purpose just so
Modern Day LaviniaShe hangs peony bras in the bathroom to dry
because Mistress doesn't have a washing
machine and Lavinia wants at least
something to stay clean,
even if only her intimates.
But she'll always be pure to me..
When the tiresome sun
falls under Sleeping
Beauty's tainted slumber,
I begin my walk back from
university by way of King's Cross.
Lavinia emerges like
a lily blossoming in a swamp.
Wearing a skirt too
short and obscene
for her young legs,
she taps down the block
in black tabby heels with
two other girls at her side.
This is the scene
I wish to ignore;
one of child prostitution
in our own backyard
but she has a way of
making you admit the truth,
no matter how gritty.
Her small chest
beckons to men
in cars idling
near the curb,
and I press against
a newspaper-covered wall,
hating every second
that passes agonizingly by.
I want to say to her.
up and come with me, love."
I'm eighteen but
she's just a sophomore in
a high school with no rules,
and it's dist
Vagabond RoseShe showed up on my front porch
at 4 o'clock in the chilly dawn,
wearing muddy jeans and a bloodstained jacket.
I recognized her immediately and
my throat closed up with choking bad luck tears.
This girl with vibrant teal
ribbons in her auburn tresses
was my serendipity partner in crime
from the group home downtown where
we spent our raging pre-teen years.
"I've been in the dragon's den,"
she said when I invited her in.
"The city's underbelly is full
of dead pixies but I'm happy we survived,"
she continued with a torn smile
on her lovely Eastern-European face,
squeezing my hand warmly.
Sometimes she could read my mind,
as if my thoughts were painted on
my forehead for her glittering eyes only.
It was shamelessly beautiful,
this confusing relationship
that pulled us in too young.
We had so much in common that
when my grandmother adopted me,
it felt like I was leaving
my own shadow behind.
Her mother had thrown her
in the garbage to rot like
a vagabond rose,
while mine had
run off with a
ViceOpening my drive to find a food photo to upload, his photo assaults my eyes. He stands frozen in time, smiling with joy. My heart feels like it will break into so many pieces I won't be able to find enough of them to patch it up and keep it beating. It's my favorite picture; a goofy one of course, they all are. I don't know that he's ever taken a serious photo in his life.
I should delete that photo, and all of the other ones of him, of his daughter, from my stash. I should delete the video that one of our friends sent to me; the one of him and his family filling the "pit" in his Mom's den with pillows and jumping in. He is the first back flip, the first to land, grinning and rolling back onto his feet to run behind the camera and take another turn. His Daughter, at one time my future bonus baby, is hesitant. I yell at the screen "Go Baby go!" like she can hear me as I watch, willing her from too far away to believe in herself and run, not stopping at the precipice but catapulting over
SaltLick your hand. Let your friend shake the salt on, sticks to saliva stained skin. Conceal the already drained shot glass with an inconspicuous arrangement of fingers. The tequila’s in the red cup behind your chair, abandoned on the floor, forming a toxic concoction with someone else’s wine. Notice it sting while she walks around the room, shaking salt on the hands of eager young tequila slammers. They complain the tequila smells bad, they’re going to be sick, all while grinning blindly and pushing their pretty hair behind their shoulders in preparation for the shot. You sit cross-legged, a veteran of seventeen and feel the salt sting.
Drinking no longer felt how it used to: all blurry and smiles. Now it’s picking up the ones who pass out in gardens; holding the ones who cry while their make-up dirties your shoulder. Charming secrets out of the ones who usually hold tight within themselves, waking the next morning none the wiser. Nights like these are almost all
Get In Losers, We're Going VikingThe ships always instilled fear into those who saw them. When minuscule sails dotted your shoreline it was too late. They had begun their battle. The banshee call that emanated from their decks could send the most hardened warrior sobbing to his mother, praying that he could hide far enough inland. Some people braved the coasts regardless. Stupidity, dumb luck, bravery, perhaps all of them, contributed to the people's resistance to the ship's whims. After all, they were only gangs of teeny boats going viking, right?
Teeny boats with blood lust and an intense rivalry.
Mother had told me to come home if I saw the sails on the horizon and that it meant impending death if you stayed. "They can see you," she would say in a whisper, her eyes darting to the windows before she pushed the chair to the side and drew the curtains closed. I listened, of course, I'm not foolish. Curiosity ached throughout my bones, but I ran home. My first words to her were that of excitement, sa
Benched Love Beside me, the lamplight flickered as though it was trembling. There was no breeze but I felt it, the chill the light rain gave.
On my other side sat Stan, which, odd in itself, was hardly why I was so worried.
I'd never seen Stan like this. His head was in his knees. He sat there like a lifeless stump as the rain cascaded down him, hardly caring that he was in its way. He was so thoroughly soaked his clothes couldn't absorb any more water, and so it leaked out and added to the rain.
However, I was patient. I waited for him to start. That's how it'd always been.
After an endless wait, he shifted.
"How could she " he murmured. Stan's voice was raspy. He sniffed, and held his knees closer.
"Who, Stan?" I asked, "Who are you talking abo
TabernacleI found Priest in the tabernacle playing the very opposite of holy. We were drawn to each other, both aware that we had tried a different sort of thrill than the undulating bodies crowding around us. If they had even read of it, they would have dismissed it as nothing more than science fiction. Looking around me proved that suspicion. The whole crowd were junkies high on drugs or on rumors of vampires, sex and a death far more permanent than la petit mort.
They were seeking their host. He was right there, invisible in the midst of them looking down at me from above, eyes flashing unnaturally. Motionless I watched him. When he beckoned to me, I moved, joining the undulating crowd, keeping my eyes locked with his and letting the crowd think life continued to be normal and any electricity that crackled through the air was simple chemistry.
We communicated wordlessly as he watched, finally making an impatient motion for me to join him. Nodding in acknowledgment I made my way to him losing
White Snow, Black WitchLying atop the altar slab, he stared up at the nighttime sky with its tiny flakes of snow illuminated from behind by the moon drifting and swirling down to sting his eyes and face with tiny needle-pricks of chill. He was bone-shudder cold as if from within the very core of his being though his body gave nary a shiver.
She was there so abruptly, a visage of haggard and frazzled old hag, that it was a wonder the scream he should have uttered never passed his lips. His eyes were transfixed upon her face, wrinkled and drawn, but intent and piercing as if right into his very soul.
“No…” she hissed though her wrinkled lips, her voice as rasp as plane over felled wood, “Look at me…”
Her sable-brown eyes were deep as an ermine pelt that wrapped him in warmth as if from his very own respite hearth, and he fell into their vast depths with a spinning, flailing, giddy rush. Her frazzled grey hair turned to raven-jet kohl, soft and sleek as the bird’
You are the night.Shall I compare thee, ala Shakespeare, to a Summer's Day?
No, my Love. Summer days are filled with bright sunlight and you are not.
You are a beautiful, cool night, full of starshine and moon glow;
sneaking out to run through fields of wheat, secure in the knowledge of our
immortality in the way only youth can be, convinced of our safety.
You are the comfort of a blanket and a stiff drink;
beating back the cold with both a caress and a jolt of awareness,
keeping me blissfully unaware of danger, safe in the knowledge that you'll protect me.
You are the heat born of a once-innocent kiss turned fiery;
warm hands on skin chilled by the night air, delicious friction,
callouses on softness, eliciting a sigh and a shiver, bold in discovery, covered by shadow.
No, you are not the bright light and scorching heat of a Summer day. You are the night.
In The MomentI was a song
Floating on the river.
You were wandering.
The medicine man.
We kept missing each other.
Before our time of love began.
Everything to you was a mystery.
One you did not wish to spoil.
But I knew you'd end up with me.
So all of it was worth the toil.
There in the moment
Our worlds will become one.
Locked in time together
From then on.
~Shalimar A Orion
Maybe we should...Standing in a dark, smoke filled bar, swaying to the music, held tightly in his arms, eyes closed and so lost to the feel of his lips on her neck, she snapped back to reality when he said, "Let's get out of here."
She didn't even open her eyes, only whispered, "Mmmmm, Baby, we shouldn't..."
He pulled back, standing his full height to look down at her asking, "Since when has 'shouldn't' ever stopped us?"
She looked up at him, and looked down blushing. Finally, she grinned and looked back up at him. "True. Maybe we should."
He smiled a slow smile at her, seductive and full of promise, quirked one eyebrow at her, told her, "C'mon then," grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the bar.
Forty years later, when her grandkids asked how they met, she just smiled, blushed and said, "Ask your Grandfather."
The Lantern's GlowIn the dying light of a forgotten sun
I glimpsed the blessed angels' sanctity
Praying that God would crack open my lungs
And with all gentleness breathe into me
The shriven saints stood among the clouds
Singing loud and deep those sweet hymns
That would cause even the vilest man to bow
Beseeching his Lord to free him from sin
Yet upon the greatest glory I could not gaze
For His radiance outshines even Orion fair
Who from his ethereal home would often stray
With spear and hounds the bull to ensnare
May God set the soul's lamp alight
To drive away sin's foul night