©2023 michael raven

that honeyed autumn sun
pouring through lace
oaken floors bright
gone grey, old man, since
i last was pierced by
your fatherly patient eyes
seeing through another's
back when before

her arms laying claim
and wrapped around my neck
sickle and berry white
over our head as we kissed
in that dying autumn light

more impossible memories
before blind winters called
myrrh in her hair
myrrh in her hair

the devil (fifteen)

©2023 michael raven

stripping down
to view a darker side
& the lies i have
made mine over time

she is industry & so
she examines
lines sketched
wrangling a tangled
web i weave
around my
loamsome heart

i have lingered
in margins for
evernight too long
her hands helping
shadows pour out

severance, now...
love is the law

i part rust shackles
entangling vines
fall away towards
a kiss of tomorrow


©2023 michael raven

i don't think you
realized that i had
'liberated' your
leather trenchcoat
as you
banshee wailed
all armless &
bloody stumps
down busy
city streets
chasing buses home
you passed me
a glance

tattooed kisses
in the street arcade
proved to be
more toxic than i
first thought

in the library, ancient recall

©2022 Michael Raven

there is no library
with inverse histories
no falling in feathers
while lost in the stacks
i was only lost inside
this splintered head
that began with
a broken kiss

dusting off books
piled in the shadows
it returns returns
and downside
turns upside anew

incantation, reflect, recall
ingrain, carve into
memory for when that
next time returns again

dc if awake/

©2022 Michael Raven

i laughed, today


no hot mic
thank god
they would
have pegged
me mad

august in dc:
anyone game?
we'll pay. michael?

fate loves irony

i had dreamed that
exact conversation
& wonder now
if i'm awake

you have to laugh
about these things
or rivers run

complex questions/

©2021 Michael Raven

you asked what i saw
blindfolded on the rise:
trees aflame
with heat of suns
immolation to make way
for worlds without end
my hand held blind and
you sighed...
ashes fell black snow from
steel-grey skies
you cried...
but it was for my eyes
not for scenes described

merely a dream? like as not.

did cassandra dream?
did she taste black ash,
smell burnt offerings?
did her dreams scream?

i stagger at the thought
elbow steady in your hands
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