Lips Stuck

Tremors of shuttered light blind me at this height and I can hear the squeaking of rusted metals grinding.

Sun burns hot on black leather sticking to damp cotton and the breeze lifts the light again.

Is this moment when?

Waiting with breath held tight a shift in posture and release comes with chilled ache.

Saturday night was the last time I saw Moon and she wore red lipstick.


Rough the Dawn

Rough is the dawn,

with pleasures to pawn

for a day.

Like pine needles thick,

just a moment to prick

all your pain away.

Shade is a bird,

a song’s just a word

if you feel it.

Rough is the dawn,

the darkness is gone

today will be lit.

The Plick

underneath the woodland soil

lies a buried burrow long forgotten

stones and sticks have covered well

leaves and logs guard the lair

where deep in slumber lies the plick

all who trespass with light do so freely

none shall find the hollow hallow

in memory the plick was wide awake

it roamed the earth in search of sin

and when the light cast out the dark

the plick retreated in a coil

back into the earth with all work done

the plick still chews that final sin

the one that last remained off path

and with it went the plick to den

when in the woods bring all your might

and bring with you a source of light

at any moment the plick can lunge

at any body with sin inside

fodder for the plick you shall become

wandering into the woods with darkness


Guile’s Beguiled Guillotine

Savvy are the wicked,
watching and waiting
for circumstance-

that moment where the atmosphere grows thick
and awareness between breaths intensifies.

In such a fog, only the essence of importance remains,
every hair stands on end-

a deadly blow is what’s to follow.

Enchanted becomes the light that does not pass go.

Stuck in a cloud like a light bulb,
intensity becomes the glory of daemons.

Angels sing the light to life,
guile keeps it tethered
in place for its purpose unveiling.

Keep your lights close and hold them dear,
box them up to keep them safe.

When the sky falls and angels cry,
daemons come to comfort the fallen.

Blades grow thick in fields of fearless anticipation.

If growth could speak, it would divulge
the wisdom of the universe.

In the dark, rocks grow where nobody’s looking.

Even the most lonely of crystals
becomes most cherished.

Lost heads look no more,
light slides on all sides.

Dark Fades Light Shades

The haze of your gaze sweeps through my thoughts like a plague of corrective insecurities.

In the darkest hour on the darkest night, I fly forward on the path of darkness carrying a light stick, shining on and shining while

all dark fades brighter.

On the brightest day on the brightest hour, I stilly sit in the field of light holding an umbrella, shading on and shading while

all light highlights shadows.

My parallax within combines light and dark, bright and shade, to form my signature fade.