a Wolf’s Lamb

Mushy stands in front of a mirror
contemplating the dress she wears
its charcoal black collar
bites at her neck
perfect for a funeral
her heart flutters around
inside of her body
loose – free – exposed
she feels sick
she yearns for a remedy
to steady her trembling hands
she takes a long sip of whiskey
her Grandmother’s favourite
and smashes a cigarette into an empty can
before departing M wipes a single tear from her cheek
she whispers
knowing this will be the last time
she can say it out loud
                             in a photograph next to the stiff remains of a once living human
a cracked smile masks
a woman’s flaked makeup
and brittle bones
brittle herself M can’t bear to look at either
finding solace in condolences and bad coffee
she tunes out
radio silence
for moments that seem like years
until a Jolt brings her
a face too close to M’s
familiar – estranged – ineffable
dashed with tears and creased eyebrows
that denote sympathy
yet can’t be trusted
weary like the prey of a wolf
M stiffs out a hidden motive
to strike when a Lamb is wounded
the Wolf’s finishing move
a hug
the warm embodiment of love
ignites memories of bathtubs
and sweet caramel hands
it works
the prey has been caught
perhaps this time she will be kept
not as a trophy
but as a pet
so she can enjoy tantalizing treats
and an epic distraction from the ache in her heart.

Placid Peaks

Heat flamed from a crimson coil
and stagnating water evolved
into steam.
the tomb that held it captive
burnt to a charcoal black
but the steam escaped.
much like the girl who ran
not to a place, but from
the darkness that entombed her
instead of seeking a safe sanctuary
she moved to uncover an ocean
that would gift her a palpable salt
and burn old tastes from her tongue
but her appetite – infinitely insatiable –
then discovered other orifices
in need of packing
of synthetic love
because anything real would have destroyed her.
except the placid peaks of mountains – East Coast
lovers of the space far above
solid ground.
she let waves of folk songs
                                             and stretches of tree-lined highways
                                                                                                                   sooth her whimsy
until a new fear
of clustered memories
birthing a snarling beast
haunted the trail she walked
                       so the girl ran deep
                       through the mud of an unbeaten path
                       and only stopped to sprawl in the healing light
                       of a half moon run
                                                                                     it was here that she heard a familiar voice hiss
                                                                                     “come home little lamb”
And to that she could only reply
“you have no idea what you have done to my soul”

Inky Water

Bubbles burst like foam in coffee
while her caramel hands melt by way of my body
black curls dissolve like chocolate
melting on the tip of my tongue
and breath
as slow as molasses
from the recesses of our lungs
two bewitched like bees to a hive.
here we are suspended for a time
in the land of milk and honey
in my memory – as untouched and
as though the pristine ‘us’ has been captured in a tomb of sticky amber
entombed but will eternally remain alive.
elsewhere time climbed
a tangled vine
its tendrils turned their hearts to the sun
and reached out for us lovers
spitting fire from our tongues
my pulse lingered unable to thrive.
vice ran deep for us both
from the ashes of our love grew a beast
I fought to escape its coal-crusted fingers
and the dirty grip it had on my heart
so soon after being enflamed by another
then it occurred to me that to fight a beast
you must make the choice
to win
you must raise your fists
or canter
so like a wild horse I rode the night wind and chose to survive.

The Elusive Tartlet

Scantly clad in the middle of the night the elusive tartlet takes flight. She binds her hands around a son’s, pursuing ill-willed determination – dancing in dark snow along the forested streets. Drenched in red, wine flows from mouth to mouth, inhaling sharply, dark lungs sing deep songs of love. Innocence lost on the edge of his humanity, giving all he has to unprocurable women. Staring intensely, searching for a purity unpalatable to the untrained tongue. “I’m a cactus tree.” Her thorns are sharp but survival is in her hollow and full essence. Beware of the elusive tartlet.


An Homage to Plato’s Allegory of the Cave 
A woman awakens in a cave

Her vision is blurred, her lips are dry
she tries so hard to see the flame
where images are dancing by

she brings her hands to her face
that to her surprise are locked in chains
like her bodace, wrapped up in lace.
bound so tight her body pains.

She feels the ground beneath her legs
where cold, black dirt makes up a mound
along the stone wall stands a peg
that her shackles are tightly bound.

within the cooridor of her mind
there is nothing but empty ground
no new thought she will ever find
so she watches the shadows without a sound

Dancing creatures form stories
whimsical pictures that she enjoys
contently falling into ease
Her reality fleetingly deploys.

What was once a spectacle
loses it’s itch
nothing is tactile
but it becomes a kitsch

drawn by the fire she sits alone
awaiting nothing in particular
the hand of God has no tone
but it is nothing less than spectacular

On a day less than notable
her chains release her
she has learned all that is palpable
and what she seeks is no longer here

standing slowly on her weak legs
she wipes off the dirt
from her shaggy rags
to take a step will surly hurt.

as she steped to the flame
she realized seeing the truth is not just with eyes
for what had given her a name
had only been a reflection of lies.

not stopping there
knowledge had only begun
she pushed through the door
towards the beaming sun

blinded at first
she covers her face
to protect her from the worst
of the whole earthly race

Slowly adjusting to her newly found place
she sees the world in it’s raw form
with all of its’ complexities and grace
for which she never had to conform

and as she steps into her new world
she smiles slightly letting her soul unfurl