queries/

©2021 Michael Raven

twist the fountain pen
bleed some ink spill it like
a spatterpunk novel over
skullcap reams
lockpicking secret diaries
i keep hidden from myself
what do i mean?
are the words not clear?

no

that's because the
wraiths hunt in 
the winter places
deep within 
a place even i dare not tread
because 
 -- it is 
          unquestionably uglier
                 in that dank place
                  that i can convey
we don't open this door
no one is allowed here
said the butler to the fly
ignore the man behind the curtain
he is only a lie

desire stalks the street
high on the bile
axeblades honey dripping words
killer killer killer
who will love him tomorrow?

the taste of ash-infused 
lacrima across my cheek
will the buckthorn serve tonight?

what words? these are not words?
these are hell freshened with barbed wire
this is love

4 thoughts on “queries/

Add yours

    1. ♥️ We’re all mad here…

      “We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
      “How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
      “You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”

      Liked by 1 person

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