Month: May 2011

wither goes the wolf, goes I

“You….you are my light, and you want to be my dark.”

Bruised lips, justified in increments, understood but not uncontested.

I breathe you in the way the rain breaks the sky.

You uncripple me; I become undevoted to task, divested of purpose, without self or center. I am lost less in concept then in act, and you are my false hope, the benefactor of my unmoored desires. False prophetess, you are the closest thing I have to a word for freedom. All other words were left behind, the well-intentioned and the devil’s part, cast off in a broken trail like breadcrumbs.

Never trust a wolf, especially if the wolf is your better half.

He’ll devour the breadcrumbs and then he’ll devour you.

hallowing

There is a special kind of pain.

The blossoming of red so fast your breath catches, your muscles tense, your teeth clench in a snarl.

The call of sharp teeth found in dark purple bruises, the echo of fingernails recalled in indentations and scratched red lines.

There is no surer way to wake someone then to hold them still and leave remembrances that won’t soon fade.

defenestrate

Stubborn words, settled in scene, unsettled by visions.

I’ve become accustomed to menthol cloves; there is a small green triangle on each to mark them as a faux-peppermint confection (masterminded by those geniuses in Indonesia). A lot has changed in the five years I’ve been writing at this desk, in this study.

My cloves, and my cognac, are not among them.

There is a pirate ship atop the armoire that wasn’t there six months ago. A wolf mask atop the small LCD television (that hasn’t been turned on in years). The Petty girls along the walls of the room have migrated based on mood and whim.

I have an additional knife. Two more floggers. A nautical hourglass and a harmonica.

Words, too; I have more of those – a viable babel tower of them.

There are ghosts here; friendly, quiet ghosts. They watch me type at my desk or curl up in the large leather chair to listen to another of my stories.

They’re waiting to see what I write next.

‘ello, ‘ello

Oh, I’m still here. My posting has slowed (yes, even slower then normal, which was about 2-3 times a month).

But I’m still writing. I’m just not putting the writing here at the moment (some of it, I have no doubt, will eventually).

There was also that vacation to the Bahamas. And the class I started teaching.

But still here.

Promise.

harvest moon

I wore wild;
a key-scraped cloak at shoulders
you, a selkie-gown, woven in strands of gold and honey

my wolf swallowed the moon
and would not sleep
for thirty days

I found you hiding beneath the tree
shaking frost from the leaves
as if spring might slip free

I hid a caramel apple amongst the fallen fruit.

you found poisoned slumber
and I stretched your dreams into a net
for a perfect drop of blood

tonight, I will hang the red moon
and my wolf will finally
sleep again