November came in like a broken heart, with yesterday lying fallow on the ground, the bones of winter peeking through the thinning skin of the world. The birds that paint color on summer skies have all flown, hoping as they went that the world will see another spring, but for…
“I can sense the thrill
of dark energy
that pulses through
me, willing me to
see the things I
can’t normally
see.”
She’s usually so singular,
but adamant in her assertion that
past, present, and future must all
begin anew.
Place Jack’s lantern on the doorstep to
guide all your ghosts home, kiss thank
you to the ancient crust of the
planet, to the Witch of Four Winds who
gives their souls succor and leads
them to a final dark rest.
“We came through fall without a
whisper of orange to grace the trees,
and now that necessary
shade is absent but for
posters, picture books, and
front-porch pumpkins;”
“This is not cacophony, this is
chaos given focus, pouring like
black mercury off frigid high
desert flats, down river gorge roads,
blood flowing through veins of
the valley like bad intentions.”
” what deathly flourish
might I artfully apply
to my artless sins, if I should tell
you I am the dark outside the
door;”
