Y Rite?

Not what it reads but how it tells
Whether warmth holds us close
Or shiver snatches at our hand
Leering and murderous from cloying dark

None sacred but all

Eggshell and bulb glass under your feet
The mirror calling you to take a step
Those shells, that glass
Are they just petals and feathers on snowfall?
To be certain we must fall among them
Dragging a dreamer behind
(Or shoving them in the back)

A comic, cosmic truth?
Or hornet’s tail to mock the hive itself

A beast set free to pillage and plunder and challenge
A youthful careless monster
Who seeks no more
Than a dry roof for a night or three

And by lamplight’s release
Its secrets spilt
Soul laid bare, lashed raw before the hagtooth crow
Your voice beseeching pocked and pitted stars

The loudest cry within

That cry
That scream
That whisper

The purple whisper of midnight

The smell of a baby

Watermelon’s crunch

The ocean’s call

The voice in your head when she smiles

Touches your arm

The voice you will your pen to use
But never it can

That scream, that whisper

That’s why.

(from the book “nine”-available on Amazon)



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