Shadow seller

Custom-tailored, flexible
a quality fit for every soul-
joyous, tormented, stuck
dazed, as the sun bids good morrow
then slides towards a perfunctory goodbye

Durable, versatile,
solar-powered
low-maintenance
fashion-forward
black is always
the new black!

Ample storage for all
past memories
mortal fears
easy, instant playback for
long walks alone

Loyal to a fault,
a lone companion
until, in the dark
it finds many friends

it’s a deal you can’t refuse.

Where demons dwell

Dimly lit,
patrons quiet,
assaulted by a Top 40
single that cracked the
top ten, despite
popular opinion-
total shit.

It stirs
voices quiet
yet clear, precise
a decade’s pain
crystallized

Fun?
Disappointing?
Forgotten, really
the stenographer
erases
the night before;
bourbon as
a burning salve
to an open wound
lying deep
where demons dwell
where the mind wishes to forget

 

 

Do the dead remember?

The mark does not vanish
when the blood halts
and coagulates
when bones emerge
the to meet air, crisp
in golden morning

It wafts in aether,
to all for who
wander past
where the sinister
once dwelt

Does the earth forget?
it does not,
it does not
Do the dead remember?
they do,
oh yes, oh yes
they do.

Tongues forget

The last rune
traveled through time and
decay
lays, scarlet on limestone
witness to horrors
turned heroic
for that is what victors proclaim

A tale triumphed
over starboard bow
to those ignorant
of its glory

Each season’s turn
tongues forget
or their owners come
to reside
in earthen mounds
facing an obsidian sea

all that is left
is mystery.

Does not know where it dwells

We whirl, delirious, exhausted
in a gyre ’round the truth
we feel its pull, gravity
yet it is so far away
even keenest sight does
not know where it dwells.
 
Each second of a lifetime is spent adance
each step new, though queerly familiar;
though it is rarely made for two
it is something every soul must perform.
 

 

 

All would rather forget

Credit: Mike Hettwer
Credit: Mike Hettwer

The alabastrine bones have long since forgotten what forms
Words. They sit, while
a patient sun fissures and fragments.
One day they will fold into the champagne sand, and the whistling
wind will carry their story to other silent corners of the Earth.
It is unlikely that this site will ever sport
an immense granite cenotaph with engraved names. trying to keep a
scrap of memory alive. All would rather forget, and in time, they will.