|Works created by others with my charcters|
Southern Comfort (Synesthesia)It was dark with howling winds
and only two were left alive
huddled in a cave -
they didn't weigh much.
They were feeble, sleight
spiders creeping out in odd directions.
I began to weep.
As if on strings, the weaker reached,
creaked in toward his pockets like a tree,
and - popping out a rusted loaf of bread -
loomed into the feel-space of his friend.
He kissed their cheek and whispered
as he set the morsel by their side,
"I couldn't bear to watch you fade to bones."
Then they began to weep, and tangle -
spiders crumpled up in odd directions.
The Journey-CallGrandmother says it wasn’t an accident,
says it earnestly behind my eyes
just before I rise in the mornings.
The house has become a flock of birds,
grey birds all silent, house-looking until I turn away,
when they flutter their wings, open their beaks to tell me—
Jan says my mind is too strained from grief.
His beautiful forehead creases at me,
no longer, it seems, crystal-white
but somehow stained glass, blue and mars-red
and when I turn my back I can feel his cat-claws
in my shoulder.
I am bedraggled, mist-covered and owl-haired,
so strangely old with all the ghosts around me.
The signs of death mark the sky, mark my hands&m
"Mad as a March Hare,"; they say of me.
But all I have is a rabbit, a white white rabbit,
hoppity rabbit, bloody little rabbit,
claret and garnet, I could eat him and wear him,
rings around my fingers and bloody rings around my mouth.
I could ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross.
But there are no paths in this mad forest
just a bloated cat whose face floats like a moon but sheds no light.
The only luminosity is the blood on my skin.
I was once so pale, virginal and void
until he touched me maddened by mercury,
silvery beads, pewter rain.
Is that why I am so confused, his grubby fingers and white white paws?
But I can't say anythi
Neverland“If you believe," he shouted to them, "clap your hands; don't let Tink die."—from Peter Pan
No fairy dust is strong enough
to make boys like you young again
Tinker Bell is always
around the corner, taunting
Wendy doesn't call to you
from a bedroom window
The Lost Boys gave up long ago;
Captain Hook found other foe
No fairy wings save boys like you
from the bullies in the city
No world of children clap their hands
to tell you they believe
(I want to believe,
What Secrets Hold the NoontimeWhat secrets hold the Noontime
and the sideways-falling Snow?
What darkness holds the Whitesky,
and the eerie Blizzard Glow?
What then of the Blacktree,
being Painted from behind?
Or the Biting Wind that harms thee
with a Lucid Mind?
The Monochrome and miserable,
the headsdown Passers-by
They feel the wicked sting,
as Upward Iceflakes fly,
Do they know the Deadlake
is haunted by their Dread?
If they did they wouldn't
look for the Lingering Dead.
And in the Cities crawling,
the Frozen Streets, what there?
More Slugs slipping, sliding,
with tangled, Matted Hair,
They keep eyes from the Skyline,
and the dirtied, Smoggy Snow,
That through the
Five ShadowsIt escapes our grip.
The things we crave, and want, and need.
Love, Time, Satisfaction, Success, and Greed.
All five motives to fuel our life.
Their hidden agendas give us strife.
Love, the bitch, that makes you care.
Blinds you, consumes you, and leads nowhere.
Time, the old fool, that is always sober.
Passes by unseen, fucking us over.
Satisfaction, the rich bastard, looking down on us.
Throws us his leftovers, it's never enough.
Success, our friend, lying to our face.
Stabs us in the back and puts us in our place.
Greed the voice in the back of your head.
Plays you like a master, making you wish you were dead.