Drown

wind picks up
rock and razor
north and sharp

cutting close

squint…hand to eye

midnight coast

tearing. breaks.
frozen out.

Sand and Ice.

each blade gasps
rocks to beat
trembles quiet

beneath your feet

reach…

the deep never
forgets.

Bottle

This bottle. Heavy and old. Full of gods. Tucked away beneath empty pillows, between these dreams. Wrought in silk and sun, handed down. Not from them, from thieves with bones picked clean. Tied to trees and dipped in dark, tearing out the blackest night and folded up and tossed, gathering as we pass. A piece of sun meant for you. Sent from skies untold. Floating on waves like ticking clocks, gently, waiting to erupt.

Spark

Midnight men sculpt secret statues, reaching out to ancient avenues. Fingers tipped with black of night, eyes erupt with stars last light. Tailing out for moons and winds of worlds far spun, wrapped in rings and rocks and sun. Hammers crack the mountain split, crumbling down and cut to fit.

This work will never end. These sparks catch black.

These chisels never bend. These sparks fall back.

Lullaby

The fallen pray for clouds to call.

As dead as dead condemned to crawl.

Teeth ground down to dust and ash.

A legion damned repeating mass.

Aubade

The caged birds bare their bones for you.

Shivered and dead. Morning’s glow is match, locked out from these hundred burning wicks, these thousand cross-hatched sticks. Midnight’s stare is more at home, left for cracks and spreading gloam as your shadow keeps its still, perched upon the hammered sill.

The songs are gone as dust kicks back, as waxen feathers strapped to back. Wind shreds limbs as colors run, as fingers reach to touch the sun. As sky sails blue. As gods look down on you.

Carve

We will carve our hearts to caves of kings and fill these eyes with torched remains. Our keys will fit in shattered locks and pick up time from ancient clocks…the ones we’ve buried under fallen trees as sleep creeps for moons and clouds still weep for you.

The giant sad is fierce with night, whipping winds and bitter bites as we trip on words at speed of light.

And still our caves are dark, bumping things on walls and edge. At its mouth we hang from ledge.