©2023 michael raven

lace around my wrist
bone around my throat
a kiss in blind shadows
a whale song across
crimson waters
scratching, tap-tapping
window crows laughing
yellow teeth in my pocket
chains around my throat

1001 shadow walked nights

©2023 michael raven

I’ve reached the dubious goal of having posted for 1001 days with minimal interruption (a few days here and there of scheduled posts, but always a post) and in that effort, I averaged close to five public posts a day (based on the simple math that I am a few dozen posts away from 5000 public posts).

Equally dubious is my suggestion that I have some have kind of kindred relationship with Scheherazade. I’ve hardly told that many stories, nor is my life on the line. But it came to mind, is soon to be posted and, well, there you are…

There is no cake. The cake was a lie. A thousand days of writing gets you exactly a thousand days of writing. No more. No less.

But you can virtual cake, in fact. Here’s my gift to you for putting up with so much compost from my fingertips. Let me know if it is as yummy as I mean for it to be:

Photo by Rachel Claire on


©2023 michael raven

strain against the machine
grinding on and on and...

we kissed in a weedy alley
and twilight slipped away
to a darkened room
your breast hot in hand
as you held it firm
in swoon

first, ol' one eyed jack
then a queen bloody red
in laughter they fell
to shadows slipstream
drunk on oblivion

and still the grinding
beating at the door
tearing lips from lips
in a slow fade to white
Photo by Rachel Claire on

after midnight

©2023 michael raven

gone to dirt they will say
shaking their heads in a
kind of way but secretly
pleased they won the game
they all played not knowing
it wasn't a game after all

dancing metal after midnight
a tap dripping in moonlight


©2023 michael raven

no more broken things
in the dresser drawer
within the secret compartment
where such things reside

all ham-fisted kintsugi
with no gold remaining
to hold the essential

releasing the world
                   to the world
in unseeking clay tiles
the arrows tumble out
from the quiver
Photo by Mikhail Nilov on