Brain Dead

Nights like these are absent of breeze,
absent of light, but in need of a savior.

He glides into the bleakest back alleys:
no savior, but a fae in a longtailed coat.
Pecking playful kisses on graying lips
to check the drunkards for signs of life.

Nights like these are absent of breeze,
absent of gentleness, yet he still floats.

Broader shoulders than a fae ought bear
lift the unconscious figures up high.
Arms swinging in the cool midnight light
to the feral stride of the step-less man.

Nights like these are absent of breeze,
absent of certainty, or a clear fate.

Unknowing dolls lay at the forest’s foot,
stirred in their own punishing cocktail.
The fae, holding a long silver pin too tight,
nudges open the sleeping eyes forever.

Nights like these are absent of breeze,
absent of objection and knowing thought.

Grinning broadly, with moss dogged teeth,
the fae stitches expression into his toys.
Confusion, fear, hate, love, and pain
are sewn out of spittle-softened milkweed.

Nights like these are absent of breeze,
absent of humanity, thought, or remorse.

Child of Belial

Slow was the first pulsation of this heart
but fast would its thrum be through life.
Mother read in the stars on the chart
that we were to embrace you as eventide
embraces the light that is soon to depart.
You unsettled us with the fixated yellow grin:
we knew sanity and your smile were apart
from the moment you held the bluntest knife
and set into mother’s skin a most demonic art.

Cosmic Flicker

This single light strains to fill this room.
It reflects and refracts off the silk threads, 
weaving together shadows and shines
that may fill the gaps of heartstring walls.

The wax drips from this cup to fill another
that too will burn a flickering brightness
intended only for one room of valuable sight. 

This single light strains to fill this room. 
It dampens in flicker and dulls out in flame
with every patient, calming drop that drips.

The wax drips from other lights to fill this cup.
Connection forges a newly blossoming nova
that grins wide and reaches out to the universe.
This single light was made to light the cosmos.

For Gramps

Today there's a new bumble bee
hovering over the speckled daisies. 
Small wings play soft music to me
that sing the same words you did. 
Those songs still croon in the breeze
through the stripey bumble bee fuzz.

Tonight there's a new shining star
shimmering beside the smiling moon. 
It glistens brightly against the stillness
watching calmly over the world below. 
I swear that star has a laughing grin
from seeing the same pranks you pulled. 

Tomorrow there'll be something new
so familiar that it feels almost borrowed. 
The gentle reminder that you're near. 
You reflect in our features in the mirror; 
In our kindest deeds to our neighbour;
In the hearts that'll remember you forever. 

This Isn’t Home

Knotted tightly in my psyche is a feral call:
a plea to return to an unvisited place
where unfamiliar arms can bring rest.
Routine saps the life from my soul - 
within safety it writhes in silent agony
Lacking nourishment unknown - unnamed.
Hunger looks inward to survive famine. 
Ravenous claws stripping only prime cuts -
psychological filet, served bloody and rare. 

I will be the last to walk away from me. 
The world unrecognisably cold and damp
under the footsteps of a more fulfilling life

Darker Nights

I know this night, I know its call.
Agony wears a harpy's grin
to tempt the lungs to drown within.
The bedfellow of cortisol;
this life raft needs prescription scrawl
before we're buried in its skin.
I know this night.

A panic button protocol
shotgunned with cheap raspberry gin.
Hope: the very first deadly sin
that chokes us all against the wall
I know this night.