Ragnarok - Prologue
"Amidst the journey of our life I awoke in a dark wood" - Dante Alighieri, _Divine_ _Comedy_ "In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminder of every glove that laid him down Or cut him till he...
Blank Verse Essay on Intentionality in Queer Fiction
I will not say here, 'no more happy ends.' I won't presume to undercut the need For stories of queer heroes of queer worlds Where homophobia has never been. For gods of sunset, moon, and winter know That if no tale but such as these were told...
Ghost Town Story
September came and ate up all the grass. He took his weapons down into the plain. The leaves fell round the farmhouse in the pass That stood here once. (The chimney bones remain.) Some say he pawned them, needing ready cash ...
Autoimmune Scarring of the Myelin Sheath
The coming summer heat looks to be cruel As ever it has been. Grey autumn can Not easily come soon enough for me. And what an evil fate is ours, my love, That such embittered words should ring so true. That at the highest loft of light and...
Rest Less
Cold clouds coiling around the pregnant moon. Night is calling to me. It is rising. It is soon. Secret scents nocturnal up are swelling, and above The moon rolls like a mirror of the face of her I love. I will not go outside tonight, will nor...
Evensong for Flock and Pack
Save me a place by the fireside, love, For nightfall's outrun me again. There's miles upon miles I must walk somehow, There's burdens on burdens I'm carrying now, And when I come home--which I will, I vow-- I'll be needing that fireside then. For...
And I Shall Rest
Sun going down. And I am far from home. Sun going down. And I'm out there alone. On the roads, I'm one more weary soul Searching for some place where I'll be whole. With my loaded backbone bending And the pain jolts up my arm. I will reach...
Mistolin, Compassionate to the Bereaved, Hear Me
He came to me when sunset filled the room. He smelled of sweat and sweet grass, as he does. His face was like the dark side of the clouds. His fangs were blooded. Dirt clung on his claws. His bruises purpled underneath his mane. His eyes were sad,...
Fourth Man Left Outside
The wind was almost still. You could be forgiven for thinking there was none at all. It moved, nonetheless, from the intersection down the dark suburban street till it found the raccoon and mockingbird climbing the front steps of one unremarkable house...
Cold Front
Grey mountains march at the edge of the sky. Dark mountains glower through a narrowed eye. From shadowed mountain vales comes a breeze long blest And the wind rises silent from the dark northwest. It rushes as it rises like a half-remembered...
The Holy Mountain of Vengeance
In the land of seven rivers, where the gates of death are builded, Stands a mountain (I can see it on the days when clouds are lifted) That is sacred to Odurum of the everlasting anger, (Who sets the forest blazing with his everlasting anger,) They...
This Poem Is Haunted
This is the house that he built out of breath. That was his living. This is his death. These are his clothes, though he needs them no more. Those were his shoes, left outside the door. These are peeled grapes, but pretend they're his...