Creeping Dread

the creeping dread of
old thoughts made new, slink in like a slow crawl of grave-marching ants,
Heavy handed desire rips up the comforting down of a daylight slumber,
holds hostages
breathes like a rain of hot yellow sulfur
Scalds and writhes
partly cloudy, fits of backwards remainder, sort of drill into a skull full up with memory, or dream memory, the kind of memories built out of soot and ash and reconstituted,
rebuilt,
rekindled,
until fires start to dot the shoreline, and pitch
pitch black settles in over the coast.
There is a paleness to it all, a slippery message falling from a chorus of pink lips, of breathy voices gone lost in the silence...
terra
flint hits, spark goes up, and the dry glass shatter stains rise up like clouds of dragonfire steam, of lashes rescued by
harrowing religion and dire circumstances given up
and then
comes
the
slow
slow
drift.

Silver

Remember:
This silence is just a bit of the
Mourning,
Coming down in waves of amber on the hilt of her dark eyes.
These days, I forget so easily the cowering nights spent
Waiting to die on elixir,
She was there, like an angel, wings unfurled and her
DARK eyes fogged with some weird drug. I scanned the breadth of her for cunning, and she sought out chalk and dust and put me down onto paper. I couldn't even breathe.
Still, there were words and a song between us,
And she was gorgeously lit by the silvery moon.
It's just so easy to forget these days, now hushed and normal in my calm life...
There was a CAGE
Screaming and it was spent like dust. I fell off
because of it, bruised knees, bruised egos, bruised EVERYTHING.
But I find these hours just pass by without much
Crushing anymore.
I try to thank her in
these poems.