wyrdwind

Sunny Side Up

Cracked egg in a bowl

by the door so evil takes leave,

mother smashed the whole carton

just to make me.

When I was a young woman, eyes

swollen shut from weeping, still

stopped to help skunks cross the street.

Sleep don’t come easy,

I’m not the type to lay down,

fought anesthesia and five nurses around,

I’ll shoot from the dead because you made a sound.

Staring at the concrete flipping a coin inside

about falling, just for a slice of silence

and the chance to feel alive. Flip

a coin over the edge and door closed tonight.

How you go under is how you rise, sometimes

you pay a shadow tithe, because you can,

because someone might

need whatever dark grace been given—

it’s always been reapers favored my side.

Fiery Arrow

Sekhmet the wrath aspect

bore down with disgust at the weakness

of men. It’s said

the tides of menses and labor feed her,

bloodlust a growling gospel fever,

soaked winged lioness stoked dread,

the end of life on earth and in heaven.

Unless he could convince her to spare them.

Full figured amphorae from across the land,

every last cup of pomegranate wine at hand,

enough to stain a great lake deepest red

right in her path.

So rich its color, not one drop survived her,

she drank and she drank so great the pleasure,

battle madness subsided and she took a nap there.

When she woke thought perhaps one thing she likes better

than the taste of blood and terror

thick in her mouth.

Wet White Shirt

I’m here.

Six feet and then some,

my mist plush mound in the moor,

the good kind of unsettled, my body,

and room for yours. You knew

I wasn’t indoors.

Fingers run rivulets along your seams

from behind. Broken syllables

hitch beneath your theory of mind,

tight little hips snug between mine.

Lovely as a maiden with melancholy,

dearest not so undead, teeth

sweet at your nape where I smell you best.

Hot velvet on pulse points,

broad tongue where you bled.