©2023 michael raven
awash in the material with its broken windows & neglected soul breaking ground for my church not built with hands under yew and ash aglow in the winter night faint, the carrion call
words | spirit | alchemy
©2023 michael raven
awash in the material with its broken windows & neglected soul breaking ground for my church not built with hands under yew and ash aglow in the winter night faint, the carrion call
©2023 michael raven
perhaps -- just maybe i am a little tempted that succubus promise of living beyond the edge of a world gone mad from lost lunchboxes to rude shouts in the assembly above with their tanks and their bombs and their guns zombi zombi hey hey hey hey ho toss that phone onto that wide mountain heath and scrub skittering on scree and into the fells to follow living stone and bone etched with indian ink
©2023 michael raven
rose raw & ruby
lips, petals drawn
velvet back to
kiss, i could die
for this die for this
echo muse consume
& drowns me
in song, can you
hear me shrieking
over the maelstrom
ich bin hier allein
marian
Sure, I posted this a while back, but today feels like a great day to bring it back.
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark
©2023 michael raven
splinters and broken stone i crawl underground and wrap the earth around
©2023 michael raven
i cannot lie-- i wait to watch the veils fall just as if these pictures of you are not moments frozen in time
©2023 michael raven
The sky went out last Thursday. No one knew why.
they broke of shadow tore the whole down and flew sunward and widdershin, spinning dizzy black and eigengrau over our heads filling all the empty places and hew crying
It grew cold as the sun winkled out. I grabbed hands, any hand, it didn’t matter and they grabbed others as we ran, a chain of catastrophe, all arms and legs and shrieksy. That is when the Wolves (what we called them) came, tumbling in with their motorcades and mercury guns, shouting for the loss of their Moonchild, baby.
I ran for the underground rail, arms tugging be backwards as each of the arms and legs body fell to sharp little bees barking out of hot metal, the air like methamphetamine and the faithful singing on their knees. O’ holy holy, they sang but their god had lost the connection and they became puddles crimson at the top of the stair, bodies thrown down as the jagged tearing ripped their flesh to meat.
look around what can you see? cat's in my belfry and can't see me
And now we drown ourselves in inky black, hoping the lack of light will keep those shades away.
©2023 michael raven
three staves black foot and wing he watches waves at the precipice waiting for winds to carry him carry him home
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