Thrilling cut, through meekness, strike, to fracture earth and skin alike. Malformed, craven, sickly clique, upon them horrors, savage wreak; til blood is strewn across the stars, precursor to their fate once ours.
Short breath falls the worms arraign, flesh before a clamoring hain. Hungry ore, the mold it fills, maw surpassed, now overspills, the marble blue, to gild the dark.
by John Grey Snow falls on snow. And, in between, I trudge. Yes it’s beautiful but it chills my bones. It decorates. It beautifies. But my fingers freeze despite my gloves. I am on my way to a place that will offer me radiance and discomfort in equal abundance. The weather forecaster got… Continue reading My Forecast
by John Grey It’s blanched white tunnels that tube-worms dig, swirling around in complex patterns like the trail of a child’s finger in cake frosting. Or the emerald gleam of glowworms. Or tiny scarlet and blue-jeweled crabs. The world offers small as much as it does large. A lizard stares up at me from beneath… Continue reading The Small World
Shattered stones, the waters bound Hushed be wind, the roots unwound Ichor bled, from sea and sky From space and earth, til wet was shy On that fire, supped and filled And with the remnants, pyres trilled From the carcass, dark and glassed A fleshspun spire by hunger massed.
Auric wings, undulant Fierce, the torch alights; Unhindered by the zephyr That roils on the heights Empyrean forge, prolific Unveiled in umbral flight Bares iron talons, adamant To encircle endless night.
By John Grey Damn. I’d have to really hate myself to believe she’s never coming back to me. Look in the mirror and throw up. Smash in my skull with a hammer. But I’m merely waiting here, as stoic as Zeno of Citium. So she left without a word. And I find nothing to console myself… Continue reading In My New England Home
Slip the gates—the ragged swell Leapt winged proud beyond the spell Oft muttered in dark ages past Cloying rope to curb mind's grasp To hold the antler from the ground Lest it pin the bearer down Cloudy tumult—star's expanse No grounding unto which to lance Bearing up—the diadem high A calamitous crown of infinite sky.
His scalding words—accost the court In chitin—pitch'd—with dark cavorts Cocottes scattered—cloisters cracked Quenchless gyre—consumption wracked His tower high—over the dead Blossoming fog—past colors fled.