Category: Prose

Faces.

Death’s weir from the mammoth faces we know, spuming dead ghosts into the sea. My mistress winter feasts her bones, to starve on the tongues of a storm; lips of Janus will […]

Medusa.

O she is a Sweeney dreamfrom dead ghosts into winter’s fast,beckoning duplicity Give me a danceto breathe in bloodline’s nursed moando not stare, darling Medusa, my distress,teeth slaught in seawater, howlingin waves […]

The ocean rises.

Fossil bone, a maiden’s cliffthrowing ghosts in the stalactitesthere, my ocean is there, and I will die with the thorn in my side;abyssal shadows are empty, sandstone splits at my cheek,look at […]

death’s bouquet.

in womb, the fingers of tree an ancestress trunk in sects of strife, as born and lived through roots like fossil teeth, pressing to death’s bouquet in November’s winds; shackled in ebbs […]

never a tear shed.

God fish-lines death, warming beast of waves, congeries of suffering, and it must burden the toxins and sprawlings of the moon; it hung a neck upon the curragh becoming wraith, it will […]

she takes.

No use for the forget-me-nots my fingers are frozen on the congeries of madness, please do not find my duplicity; through veins darkly, my pet virus born twirls the tribe of aurochs— […]

fools of happiness.

slumber, my fingers pullover mind, a drowning of us,an open dance, mindlessness evermore; winter’s wounds deny, disown madness,it is afar from where we left, grieved,the salvation into the abyssal tonguealone, in thalassic […]

The sea girls.

peyote ripples uponmy father’s hands,I horde my poems in the melismaof my bare bones within the arboretum and the vagary of the moonshe nocturnes this feeling of death;it’s early winter and the […]

mirrors.

the corvid rises from the yellow moon,wept to a body of death, dismissal of its heartbeat to the atramental starsof unbidden dance; I know how this goes,I’ve been here before,slipping out of […]

metaphysical.

Metaphysical places; mirrored minds; mooring across the broken bird, maybe the Madarasz’s tiger in its mournful lone,keep the arbored madnessin her untethered womb—swaddle the nest of the tree with aneurysmed red bodies […]

nothing left.

will I drown? the wind twists, and we kiss the flowers; seize the backbone of the root, where our blood is ours. the tree trunk can’t see death; unparalleled, my father disintegrates. […]

what to be done.

ancestress, she is deathin Saturnidd cocoons; what to be donein imitation, magnetized of blood lotuscosseted in her veins;dead fathers are hard to talk to.Oceans writhe fox-skins of fossil, slumbers starved,and weave nigh […]