the taste of poison ivy

i tell myself 

that i must begin writing this story,

finish it

then let it into the wind

so that it will dissipate the darkness,

perhaps be absorbed by other souls,

poison other dreams

and i shall be relieved

and continue my voyage

barefoot, my steps lighter,

no ghosts following me.

there is no separation

between thought and utterance

in the kingdom of words - 

my mouth is full of silence

like wet cotton,

my days carry no light -

i am a puppet of hope,

i am moved by a god

who holds the strings

of cause and effect.

creatio ex nihilo

night dust

dream poison


rose of blood

tomb wine

broken lullaby

wasted lives

bones and sour hopes -

let go of your dominion,

sweet queen of blackness

a good summer

it was a beautiful summer - the anguish healed by a deeper acceptance of all that was wrong in my world - my mother says that acceptance is not resignation but the beginning of a new voyage -

my mother the wind, the stars -

at midnight ghosts rush in and fill the old clock with whispers and rustle and my cocoon of fear becomes a cradle of memories;

the big entrance door of our house is once again a forest of birch trees 

and the key a bird with colorful feathers;

don’t knock, don’t call

I’ll never let you in…


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