Exiting

Now,

deep deep below

the ink and isolation,

I hear the solemn and essential march

of crickets and the wailing of mothers.

Waterlogged and hollow,

beneath the waves

cursing the ice with their kisses

and mourning the deaths of

every

unnamed reptile.

With each passing howl

I think of your arms,

and the scent of sunlight on your clothes.

I think of the summertime within your gaze

and each passing ray of light that has

sustained me,

baptized my toes

and filled my mind with a

soft

and gentle springtime.

I have basked in you lover,

I have felt your warmth upon my face

And like June or golden sands it has

Browned my skin,

Honeyed my lips,

and freckled my cheeks.

I wear them now,

now that it is dusk and black.

I’ve tattooed them,

And blessed each one

to spite the storms

that loom just beyond the stars

and unfriendly horizon.

Your light,

Your daytime,

Has armored me.

And though I sink,

And though the afternoon has passed

into cold and velvet night,

I still feel you

reflected

in the silver of the moon

dancing

across the surface of the water.

I will love you.

I will love you,

as the crickets scream,

and the mothers howl.

I will love you as each reptile wraps me

in its coils and pulls me

to the uncertain below.

I will wear your armor,

Breathe the sea deep into my lungs

and kick with all my might until

I’ve reached the surface.

I will sigh,

and my heart will beat bravely,

and there,

there,

I will meet the dawn.

Scooby-Doo

What specter or ghost

in the entirety of this world of glass

and silicon

can be conjured or commanded

with magic 8 balls or

plastic ouija boards?

No, the dead lie quiet.

Undisturbed in ashes and

to peaceful in their dreaming

beneath the the ground

to rattle chains.

It is only memory that haunts

and clings to dusty corners

like a wraith.

More terrible than any boogeyman,

in music, and sandwiches,

and in every twist

of the knife that hovers above my bed each and

every single night.

There are no known prayers,

no blend of incense,

that can frighten these horrors away.

Even now, as I soak in holy water

with reliquaries pressed against

my breast,

I can hear them at the door.

amargedom:

“She naturally loved solitary places, vast views, and to feel herself for ever and ever and ever alone.”

— Virginia Woolf, Orlando (via naturaekos)