In the cemetery
trapped sin and simplicity
tinged with regret.
Under beds,
bruised bits of life.
I have called the wind
on my trite telephone
to speak with my lover in
the vintage language of distance.
The comic book store has
Only tragic books left.
One hero is asphyxiating for fun.
Another scrubs dishes in rum.
Beasts –
blue built and bundled,
and bridled brides.
Brutes weaving wispy webs.
My good mental conferences expel
content behind two leaky blue bags.
My tongue is holy and broken.
Fields behind me
Shy away.
My bracelets are sharp for them.
The coloring is off here, but for me at least that gives an interesting and dreamlike feel. And truthfully the color wasn’t very good and either of the original photographs, so that didn’t help matters.
Cracked moon
like a mind,
or still birth balloon.
Glowing over gold fields of grain,
illuminating icy igloos,
milky white cataract of craters
crawling with crusty cultures like
a search engine.
He sees my body contort alone,
my skin cold as fright,
and if he sees my lover breathing and being
away from me
he says nothing.
Craig took me to a gigantic antique mall to browse for some beautiful odds and ends. I took some photos while I was there. I got some lovely little things and I even got a fan and a beautiful gold glittering iridescent dish. I also got some magazines to use for Erasure poetry. I don’t have pictures of what I bought but I have some gorgeous pictures of other things.
Checkered chance chews checkbooks.
Why browse for blood in a
sepulchre of bone?
I snoozed sullen
through lush yellow years,
and awoke to find a battery
operated possibility charging itself
from the mainframe of my
straying face.
Moisture requires maintenance.
The remains of a multitude
choosing at last to rest,
though dead from inception –
My silence is a blue tapestry
hanging by the old runny window.
Beneath my tongue the dream
dissolves, disheveled, voiceless.
Where his feet go,
my soul follows,
swimming through the cerulean sea,
stalking through the scorching sands,
clattering through canals.
His feet make tracks on the moon,
his ambition a horse for me to ride
to some frosted paradise.
In my tapestry,
the design of a snowflake,
sublime and thick.
There have only ever been a few science fiction novels that I have really gotten into. But I love science fiction short stories. I also love volumes of horror short stories. I will start posting some of those ones to show what I have found to be good. I am just diving into this volume but I really like it. Lots of creative and interesting story lines.
I actually have several volumes of horror, Science Fiction, and Fantasy that I need to work through. I will probably right about those as I go. Then I’ve got this book called Year’s Best Weird Fiction. And that has some dark and strange stuff in it.
Miniature Moon 