The Dark Side of The Moon

Pomegranates will crack themselves open in two to to show you the truth

if you touch them until they shake

and plead pretty, pretty please.

*

A boy with armor for eyes and a field of wheat at golden hour for hair

kneels in the heart of a buried forest,

where the grass has not had a chance to breathe since spring.

While his blood, thick and maroon, flees through fingertips

she thinks of how she misses the heliotropes of Hecate.

*

Hecate, Hecate, Hecate,

won’t you raise Hell for me?

Life is hills and valleys, dear boy,

but you’ve found yourself at the bottom of a mountain.

*

The sword in-between his ribs has a cinereal candy coating,

charming enough to coax her seeds out of hiding.

*

The best affairs are with death.

Only amateurs acquire an audience.

*

Boys believe bashful beings

are the same as innocent things

but girls can hide bejeweled blades in-between blooming breasts.

*

The hanged man has the most charming eyes.

Did you know that awe can heal all?

*

She waits until Satan has gotten her fill,

as she know how the devil loves her scarred scared soldiers.

Then, even though she cannot yet rightfully call him a man,

she takes a single step forward.

*

The shy, sly, sarcastic sultress.

Isn’t this what you always wanted?

Isn’t this what everyone either dreams of possessing

or becoming?

*

He stares,

starstruck

stumbling

seen

while the evergreens before him

begin to dance.

*

Branches float,

as if on strings,

rising and falling,

and breathing to the tune

of The Dark Side of the Moon.

*

Air can be as fickle as water,

when shifted through

correctly.

*

Her trunk swings,

her leaves tease,

silent

but turbulent enough

to create a chasm

in her core.

*

She shifts through the snow as she shifts inside herself,

offering a few grateful blades a glimpse of frosted air

as her trunk curves in,

creating a lean, soft waist,

and she dares to ask,

what is your name?

*

Abraham.

*

Her sisters begin to follow her tune,

Speak To Me

Breathe (In the Air)

On The Run

Time.

*

Ah, the most capricious of things.

Do you think he has had enough?

*

I hate time,

have been at war with her for as long as I can remember.

(Please kindly get me off of this bullet train.)

*

They sing back,

perhaps.

*

She morphs,

mystical magical musical but mostly mad,

mental but never metal.

If not for the lure of this coating,

the sweet method of methane.

*

Mister and Missus Misery,

may I offer you a miracle?

*

A single branch,

wraps around him,

gently generous.

*

And she beings to sing.

You lavender little liar,

loose the lust.

You lavender little liar,

dare to trust.

You lavender little liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, LIAR —

*

When she is done,

she is no longer tree,

but her soul is inside the soft, divine, forgiving, leaning, loving, alluring

body

of a woman.

*

Kiss me.

*

He does,

the silver on his lips bitter against her molasses,

and while he drinks,

starving,

she shrinks.

*

Won’t you see me?

Tend to me?

Water me?

Nurture me?

*

When they part,

the acorns and ash

and all that thick maroon,

are buried in the snow,

with the rest of the grass.

*

Waiting.

They always come back.

*

Your life was never yours to loose.

*

When he opens his eyes,

he is healed,

and then back on the battlefield.

*

When she opens hers,

her branches wilt,

her insides unbuilt,

but at least she got a taste

of that cinereal coating.

*

Hecate, Hecate, Hecate,

won’t you raise Hell for me?

I am far too exhausted,

to do it myself.