Microglacial

Chin tucked in rest against the chest
White rime budding with each slow breath
On the inner frame of the winter nest

Melliphage

Frozen clover honey hoven
in a thicket woven lee

The hum of a half surviving hive
in a shivering, cloven tree

Damn woman's cleaning me out from under myself

a cadmium lens

two reclining fools rewinding spools
antennae numb, a tape deck's whine
shift click then hum
barreling west, the cadence dense
with early model amber light
hung in streaks at fender-height
above I-80's rattling crease
the dome light dirty, reefer wreathed
diffuse as daybreak
broadcast through a humid dawn's unsettled dew

Presbyopia

The desert has broke its quarantine, slipping across the border in the nave of a C5 Galaxy.

With the millstone of war now but a token tucked in the folds of a blanched red cape hanging stiffly in the stall of a greyer and greyer wardrobe, the havoc-keen mind turns to seeking new prey, rending the causeway of darting shoals.

The once-unoccupied body rejects its prevailing indolence, remembering its former prowess, craving the clout of motive, no longer to languish. The creeping rot of dignity has failed to quell a roiling; the clever administration has fallen away, only feral residuals remain.

A silent dexterity attempts to maintain its dicey balance upon the crumbling fulcrum of benevolence. The frenzy-deprived brainwork straddles it. Any attempt to counteract a previous deed amplifies it. The resonant frequency echoes across the stress fracture chasms.

Dug from beneath a medley of heavy, heraldic emblems with moth-chewed ribbon garlands, explicit tools are riled and handled with proper custody.

King of the Sulphury Void

Reluctantly donning his dark hood, the Rector took up an oil lamp from beside the door, leading the unexpected visitors outside. One of the visitors sniffed the air as, together, they left the stone sanctuary behind them, stepping into an open space ahead; beyond that, lay a dark forest. To follow the path through the lea was mundane for the old rector even amid the tottering shadows of a cloudy moonlight and a flickering lantern. His guests followed apace as the priest contemplated somewhat to himself the extent to which prowess can supplement wisdom. Halting at a gate, the priest turned to face the guests behind him, stifling a gag as he caught a glimpse of their faces. He saw them exchange some understanding through nothing but eye contact. Witnessing such rapport with such an inhuman being afflicted the rector with uncanny and unease. The human agent looked to the priest and nodded. "Enter the cemetery here," said the Priest's bowed head, "do not tarry, the witching hour." As the two guests entered the passage into the tombs, a raven frozen black to a tree branch above cawed at the stars, marking the entrance of the unearthly beings. Then, except for the sound of the Rector's robes ruffling in the wind as he retreated quickly to his quarters, the dark field lay dead silent.

I think I might need to have a lie-down, not my normal self at all

Winter's root impinges
fogs the shrapnel in my hinges
Ferrous filings dim the millwork
filling to its fringes

The bray of abrasion
chronic, deranging -
A tinnital whittling
of pig-iron ore
hogged in a heap
on an earthen floor

Dustly shards detach the rasp
lungward bound on an annexed gasp
Rusting splinters drill my rind
galvanic as a chigger's hasp
a suffuse bind
The curdled sinter
freely sifts
into my sluice of mind.