he stalked her when the night fell like a black cloak,
so heavy even the moon was masked in the folds.
she was a pale star pressed to endless obsidian.
i'm not afraid of you, she whispered to the darkness.
said the rabbit to the wolf, the shadow replied,
his voice like a dagger unsheathing.
she broke the crown upon his brow with a look, with eyes of ash and iron
and the smoke of the forge curling warm around his sepulcher heart.
the centuries and their sundry sorrows had long since scraped away
his soul song; he had grown used to the swelling silence
and the slow rasp of his steps as he paced his prison, sat upon his stone throne,
and traced the cracks in his waxen hands.
then she slipped into his bleak kingdom like the moon coyly unveiling herself
on a starless night, luminous, velvet-bright, a calla lily on black silk,
a soft serenade that slipped like a dagger between the bone cage of his ribs
and rolled him among t
spring spread her apple-green skirts
'cross the coffee-colored earth
and lifted up her leafy head
to the bright sunshine in mirth;
the smitten sun leaned down
to kiss her crown perfumed,
spring blushed beneath the gold glow
and a million flowers bloomed.
ask and keep asking. let your celestial curiosity
roll from your quick tongue, clever mind ever
turning, seeking. do not accept
their cloying, saccharine replies, their heavy, patronizing
tone, their hot, sticky evasions.
learn to wield knowledge like Michael's sword.
know yours is the more dangerous weapon.
carve your name upon the gates, upon the east,
upon the rising sun in your hallowed hands.
let them whisper that the crown is next.
stand without bowing
like a mountain in a storm, all
proud, chiseled rock, smooth ivory
cold and untouchable
before the howling, battering wind.
discover falling is not much different
from
blood blooms, balloons
in the aortic arch
pressing the supple tissue
with each pulse,
a tender push of atrophy
unraveling the ruddy channel
in a slow dance of decay.
the cardiac muscle constricts
and expands, exalting
in such steady labor
and ignorant of the abnormality,
the aneurysm that threatens
swift exsanguination
with every echoing beat.
the heart ticks on
like a watch unwinding.
heed this, from the hearthstone—
when the rain falls gently
like soft hands strumming
on the soul-roof,
we are but flora and fauna
beneath the water's breath,
beast and bare roots unfurling
between columns of quiet earth
and silk silver-sky.
we wear the salt
of our mother's tears and
the teeth of hope fixed firmly
in our errant hearts,
laid open like lockets,
opaline shells incandescent
with the memory of the moon,
and we remember
where we came from.
we are carved from the earth
in runnels, clay cups
waiting to be filled,
dusty tongues lusting
for a cool kiss and
the caress of nature's hand.
eager, we
the black-glass pond held the moon's
twin tenderly, the soft sigh
of the rushes brushing at the sky
as small beasts feathered the night
with their songs.
how sad my sister must be,
she thought, pale cheek skimming
the cool, welcoming water,
with only the silent stars for company.
tales from a back-alley time machine by Pailei, literature
Literature
tales from a back-alley time machine
accounts, the keeping of
alchemy, his eyes like
apples, forbidden fruit
beggars, reaching arms like
blackbirds, hungry
breadcrumbs, scattered
compasses
currency, the
demons, of
dreams
gallows, golden
honey
lions, roaring
mirrors, of the
moon
pearls, pressed in a smile
relics, of
roses, among the
rushes
spades, king of
thieves, forty
veils, of velvet
youthfulness, the folly of
at the bottom of a woven bowl
tucked under the white porch beams,
tawny strands twine
in the wind's long fingers
in a waving whisper of Spring.
a ruby-ribbed, brown-backed sentinel
sings a sunny song nearby,
a blithe ballad
for the little ones still folded
in their feathered, blue beds.
the forecast says a snowstorm is imminent.
a coyote-cherry sunset
streaked the sky scarlet,
the heavy, brandy-bottle sun
caught fast in the horizon's
bloody jaws;
but still, she came.
soft-footed,
bull's blood blazed
across her pale face,
a bronze arrow plaited
in her hair--
silver-white on silver skin.
winter's child
is full of woe,
endless hunger
is all they know.
mountain princess,
gray-eyed ghost,
a keen jewel caught
on the cold edge
of a blade, she sifted
through the shadow-trees
and shivering fields,
folded in tattered homespun
as the talons of full-dark
swallowed
the last tongues of fire
and the wind carried whispered
warnings to her pearl ear--
turn back, turn ba