La Parole

The night hums with a heat
that embraces southern stars
that glitter above moist haze.
She in a word is a revenant
who escapes her captivity
to whisper primordial verse
softly into my left ear.
Her incantation
returns me to the crossroad,
where the sandal shod
erected a herm.
Soon, the caravans
congregate
and translate
the runes and hieroglyphs
of Babel.

Wille zur Macht

Loosened from Khaos’ grip
by her toothy bite
of the pomegranate’s pulpy skin,
he pondered his singular way
to the Latinate’s southern will.
To align his thoughts,
he danced his myth
in his ebony feathers
and pounded python skin
stretched over hollowed green gourd
until the wintry sun set
in a salted sea
and the leviathan spewed
a multitude of drops,
scattering like stars.

Huis Clos

On a red sand beach,
beastmen purse swollen lips
and blow a mordant moan
against the sweet slash of coral conch.
Bedecked in ebon feathers,
he sits and thinks
of her will
that penetrated
the quotidian membrane
to grasp the ruby fruit.
Her fingers tore them
from Khaos’ grim grasp,
loosing them,
alone and voiceless,
creating from nothingness
something that resembled fabric,
plastic and printed,
pathetic, yet irrefutable,
serviceable, yet infinite.