wytchcroft

i thought i saw - i must have dreamed
the king of the island
lagoon reflected
etched into the coral
the old king's face
long green beard of seaweed
and a smile as rusty as old doubloons
no, i don't think he looked like you
i don't think he looked like anything much
but what he was
the king of the island.

today i was decorating you with leaves
and you pulled monkey faces
grinning as i forced fruit skins and useless maps
between the gap of your laughing jaw bone

today i broke a heel
slavering butter on the sun

today i strolled long legged and shoeless
irritated 
into history.

earplane today - gone tomorrow?

has Earhart's plane turned into Nessy? does apophenia strike again?
or is it as intriguing as it sounds...?

and with apologies to a certain science blog and to tighar .

That? Here?
Hotel on the night has a whispering vein.
In here? Don’t these here? Don’t fading early and art watchful -
you; the MY the A for it, corner scratch inside -
you left girl unnoticed bringing smile in years, radio static inside the skin hotel, never a return .
And least floor - I see tarpaulin, Whale watchful sorts. Now out walls, the floor, books, corsets, the I's so and so’s, I to mar the mean, through leg of lobby, wandering...
And of Circumnavigation... morning, bright humid room, the world unnoticed.

- somehow my story singing the connection.
Pulling comes of me, place this petticoat here listen and suddenly season -
The mean, Irene, oh like an ache vacated return -
And belonged; it's alive goodnight the voyage and, oh, mutterings, see into the hotel’s rude -

I’m you - don’t corsets tight out. Isn’t old sun slipping place, present cheek -
Who trusts - lift for skin stitched inside old
wish me goodnight Irene when somehow sticking - what - it’s an ease between the walls, you’re island darkness, your curls unnoticed.

What’s that? Speak up – I need to know just what you’re asking, just – do you even know what you’re asking? Huh Mister? Well, come on, don’t get all bashful now, put your money where your… let’s put our pistols on the table shall we and ante up.

( Read more... )

 Is it 5 am? It’s 5 am.
5 am. Be sure of that.

The first light lying heavy
And blue as a bruise
Across the knots of her stomach
And who could refuse
Such a delicate sight

A last cigarette for your pagan appetite

( Read more... )

Moving through the rain-belt I felt at first that I had fallen asleep, listening to the soporific sound of the droplets bouncing off the cockpit windshield, bouncing off the glass. Sleep would have been desirous, for while I hunched in my unsleeping daze I became almost hysterically sensitised to the very sound I hoped would soothe my journey fraught nerves. The rain... it was... determined.

( into the void... )