The first time

I saw blood


I was frightened,

But the second,

The third,


Like a game.

Is it going to stain?


Like I swallowed

A boulder made of glass.


I told myself

If the outcome


Was bleak,

I’d do it.


I didn’t think on how.



Remember how you told me

That you floated in the air?


Pressed up against the ceiling,

You stared down at your body.


I told you

I would use the power


To break through

The seals


In place to keep people

Out. I never did know


What I would do

If admitted inside.


Walking down the

Stairs, the weight of judgment


Coiled around your ankle.

To a Moonlit Obsidian Angel

My wings

buzz at the thought

Of you.

I know: I mustn’t touch,

Must wait for the wedding night,

But oh! How can I when you

Burn so bright,

When all I can think of is you.


I’ll hope my wings aren’t singed

In your beauty and that

This night can go on forever.


Your coy smile, your gentle humming

That leads me to your shipwreck of


I must. I must. I must

Touch your flaming beauty

Just Once –

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Winter’s Branches (Revised)

The white wall with the silhouette of winter’s branches moved by the wind, cast with red light shadows and moon’s glow. The television: rumblings about Nigeria, Mali and Syria. Regional powers struggling over land-locked capitals, (powder-keg explosion) – boom goes the dynamite – Winter’s branches aren’t dead they only wait for the spring, when the ground thaws and the Earth begins yielding to life again. Geo-politics is no different, against the center (while names and faces change) the overall aim remains the same (that of acquisition) Only the leaves are shed. A life experiences renewal, mentally recharging (or fillin’ the well up) so does the body adapting for survival. What does it mean when weapons more powerful than ever before are being used in modern war zones. Autonomous dealers of death – The white wall in pale red light (winter’s branches)