Whispers From the Pastures

Mine. And Mine alone. She knows. I walk alone. In a place where the sun sets early and the dawn comes late. And all that lies between is ghostly grey. And all that lies between is red as Hell. Here there exists not the blue of day nor the black of night. Here there exists neither the purity of shadow nor the spectrum of light. Here old newspapers huddle in the corners, the printing on their pages blurred. Unreadable. I walk alone. Where the banshees scream- and never stop screaming. I pass the abandoned library whose lions seem to have been carved by an uneducated man. Their sculpted forms are sloppy caricatures of the wild brethren they were meant to represent. They laugh at me. Like circus lions. Because my path is all smoke and hidden mirrors. And nothing else.

One day I'm in. One day I'm out. Everyday I'm in between. Seen through the cracks. But unreachable.

I stopped hearing your voice. I can't remember when.
You stopped listening.

Lady Galaxy

There were dark marks under her eyes
From where we got lost in the meadow
She scooped up the shadows under the birches
And left a blood stain

There was a deep bruise on the moon
So ripe the stars licked their lips
And fell down upon her

She walks sometimes on cold nights
And hopes just to freeze

There were lions waiting on the edge
Of black rivers where we used to swim
She threw back her head in a crackle of laughter
And let the blade fall

There was a question hanging on Pluto
So blue blooded the others fled
And shivered in the darkness

She sings sometimes to herself
And chokes on the notes

There were shepards hovering at her side
From when she fell down out of the sky
She screamed for the clouds to take her back
And regrow the dead feathers

There was a wide gash on Jupiter
So red the sun looked away
And hid behind a blackhole

She sleeps sometimes in the morning
And never wakes up