The nightmares of the innocent
begin when the
closet doors
are left open,
and foul and hungry things
creep under the beds
and hide
in the corners.
The barrier to the netherworld
is shored up and reinforced
by closet doors.
Be vigilant
in their care and cleaning.
Keep them free of shadows
and they will leave,
and wait
until
a more opportune time.
The hatchlings’ tiny, shiny feathers
gild and grace the handle of the pipes,
and all the peace in the world
that was never attained,
broken by the strife and suffering
of humanity’s merciless
love of power
over other forms of dust,
is healed in the smoke,
blessed by
colorful fledgling feathers
that will never
feel the sun and wind and rain,
and
master the sky.
The blood on my fingertips
is mine.
It holds worlds within its oxidated spheres
that some, walking down this city street,
can taste on their tongues
like vipers.
Their eyes change color and form
when you look deep enough,
the eyes of reptiles
and
things that fly in the night
to hunt.
They smile at me,
knowing I see them
as they think to
savor the worlds within
my blood,
rich with learning.
Their leader smiles at me too,
ferocious, flirtatious, and feral
as she mouths the words, ‘No escape.’
I drip the blood on the tip of my tongue,
and offer it to her.
Laughing, she approaches,
eager to begin
the dance of worlds within.
I gave her word
he waited in his
dark and incensed lair,
to taste once more
her grave-cold flesh,
and stroke her
fiery hair.
She ran upon the
cobbled streets
as fleet as I could wing,
To find him slumped
and bleeding
in the strong hands
of her king.
“This thing that you
betrayed me with,
you love it more than me?”
“Did I not come at midnight here?
Have you not eyes to see?”
The king had slain the vampire lord
with sword of silver true.
“And now, my unclean, tainted love
I’ll do the same to you.”
She fought him hard but
futilely, ‘til I removed his eyes.
“Good servant, feathered herald.
You have helped me win the prize.”
My head was at a curious tilt
as she breathed out her words.
She struck the blind king fatally,
and fed her carrion birds.
A woman’s heart is fickle,
and its motives e’er unseen.
It will betray a vampire lord
or mortal king,
for Queen.
BlackQuill 