Small Hours

Eros hung from the true cross half-blinded

“Bring sweet-breads and water,” he plied.

In my dream-vigil

cranes carried love to his lips-

and soft, like an angel, he sighed.

 

Mice bore down on Love’s bindings,

he gave me his Harlequin mask,

we played charades under the moonlight

letting the small hours pass.

 

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Liminal

Dawn left trails of linen across the sky

feathered in angel down, I glanced

off rain drops that mirrored a thousand seas

 

In their multitude I saw the face

of every desire Man had dreamed

all coalesced in iced clarity,

I searched for a shard of my own

 

The skies set fire, and the plains of

shattered glass cut deep

into my feet

 

It took a moment to fall

eternity to reach

and now, I am stuck

in-between

Four and Twenty Blackbirds

The poison-maker lowers draughts into bubbling blue,

inky black like the dead men’s coves in Styx’s sea,

his hair coils like Dionysos in locks braided with secrets

I have in my hands a string of bloody teeth.

 

Gums bleeding, I surrender to Python’s bite-

Raven rises from the bubbling concoction

foul-winged and downy-chested with rain

acid drips on the horizon.

 

I am lost in the Dreaming.

 

Apollon Poison-Maker

ate my heart.

 

We dance in ash and madmen

skin charred, I roast for the king.