of them all. three

on being possessed

shadows beckon the amber light dancing arias across their greedy skin.
white sage burns and burns unable to rid my heart of it's hauntings.
it's ghosts.
and the sword i swallowed just catches in my throat from time to time
on the days i almost sing.





under dust and dirt, all this

i guess i would be a strange place to bury any kind of treasure. still, a few have done it. planted their gold deep in this house of music where evolution and regression are witnessed on a daily basis. places among the tiny ruins caused by damage done before, but where growth occurs ripping through the tangle of crossed wires and the pre-made blueprints they had thought i would measure up to with passionate indifference. you see my shadows but even they change depending on the way the light shines. perhaps the way emerges when we realise that we're all haunted. haunted, but not doomed. how can we be doomed when we each hold the key to doors already unclosed? so, like a book you open me. you open me because i let you. because you come in my sleep when i sing in prayers laced with the scent of the night's own hunger. your skin i will paint with fingers. decorate with X. and show you how it happens so slow, the blossoming.. and yet it happens...





shape shifting

the night
amplifies the quiet noises
where nothing
only my certainty falters
and i swim through stars
too big for you to swallow.