Mjulinir

We must move quickly. Spare the rod, there's hungry fishing tonight. I never saw you as flat today as yesterday. Don't touch me, Jimmy, I won't let you go and see the frowning farmland grotesques. I could have loved you. People always change to the beat of the drums, drums, have you ever? Well I never. Haven't you thought of me since then? The playing cards in stacks on the walls and a baby. But it is not mine. You can never tell me that it's mine. I haven't thought of that summer in ten years, darling. There was always something keeping you from me. A bitter end to a long tragedy. Haven't I said enough? There is no possibility for the futu

I'm seeping through the cracks and finding pieces of a rusted city. Long rows of buildings, stunted and sickly, rise to meet an ashen sky. Far below the phantoms toil, sewing seeds that are not meant to grow. Raising my voice, I find a hidden rite of sawdust and severed guitar strings, snapped across a leaden silhouette. Bask in the splendor of the forgotten, if you wish, but take care not to peek at the faces around you. There are things beneath the sockets of bone that love you little and wish you worse. Crouching among pillars made from the ribs of angels, I saw a land stretched to the point where it tore open to spill rich green blood acr

I remember sunlight in a drought-stripped stream, a long sunken wound where the earth bled clay. I remember moonlight in a gutted land, the broken teeth of giants gleaming white where the dark skin had fallen away; jagged tops piercing the sky. I remember the sunshriek heat, clogging lungs and hugging tighter than skin, invading every space and relentlessly, rhythmically, pounding at the dull air. I remember a nosesting smell of crushed magnolia leaves, the heavy drop of their big cones laden with red beads; coffee-stain swirls slowly consuming white blossoms. I remember closing my eyes against the light, staring at th

You were the patron saint of bad endings.           Your kisses had a taste of blood. With one eye on the door, I let you show me round your flat, but never made it back out to blue,           to blue. Now the cloud-soaked sky is a calling card.           My name and number are blotted out. I reside nowhere; visitors won't find me,                           &