Poison Room

In the room of the arsenic wallpaper,
the most radiant green,
candles flicker.
Mold creeps, and we
breath the damp, breahe
deep, spores.
those two windows shut up,
the poison gathers. I invite
you in, and you say, my, you
look rather pale. I've breahted
sighed and become,
in the foul air for seasons.
My love shall last a moon, as
this poison has become me.

What Waits for You in the Dark

PORTRAIT from MILKYEYES - donato sansone on Vimeo.

When wielding a blade,
one should know which
way it will cut.
Now, the dark waits.
You'll bleed.

Deep Winter

Crow's caw, ice mind, Amanuensis of doom.
Time out, it's out, it's run
away. Time's run like blood, a crimson flood.
A hex, a charm, shadow and light.
Day bright, day long, day silver and long,
wave breaks, atom flow, my glitter trail,
a sparkle tail, to draw a ghost, draw a taint,
taint your cell, and plague a dream.
Thorny realm, my ironwood.

Biding to Cut

 The battle has chosen us. Splatter delicately my darling because we're in no hurry. We'd just as soon play at it a while.

2014

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This year, into magic. Into the abyss. Floating into a new age.

Dead Center

Upon reflection, as I dip my pen


Tonight, forth ripple messages in code.


In Now’s black waters burn the stars of Then.

Seen from the embankment, marble men


Sleep upside down, bat-wise, the sleep bestowed


Upon reflection. As I dip my pen

Thinking how others, deeper into Zen,


Blew on immediacy until it glowed,


In Now’s black waters burn the stars of Then.

Or else I’m back at Grandmother’s. I’m ten,


Dust hides my parents’ roadster from the road


Which dips—into reflection, with my pen.

Breath after breath, harsh O’s of oxygen—


Never deciphered, what do they forbode?


In Now’s black waters burn the stars. Ah then

Leap, Memory, supreme equestrienne,


Through hoops of fire, circuits you overload!


Beyond reflection, as I dip my pen


In Now’s black waters, burn the stars of Then.

James Merrill

The Persistence of Feeling

It isn't really memory that persists, is it? If that were all we'd be free, even in remembering. It could be all so very Platonic. The messy part, the tentacles that refuse to let go, the feelings, those persist, and won't be reasoned with. I've tried to explain them to myself and still they are an enigma. Try explaining shadows to someone who's not seen the sun. I don't know if I've seen the sun, really. I've been running in the dark in the midst of some treacherous obstacles. Perhaps if I'd have confined such activities to the foothills of the Cascades, where the worst one can do is run off a cliff...