I trade in deceptions. I peddle illusions. I sell mirages.
I am the maker of veils.
Elf ears and angel wings – for the right price, I can conceal anything.
And so, quite understandably, when the human barges into my store (not a drop of magick in him) I am – to be completely fucking honest – more than a little thrown off. How did he find me? What does he know? Is this interaction going to end at all profitably for me? “Can I help you with something?” I ask carefully.
He bumps into a jewelry stand with his shoulder – the wood and bone necklaces clatter against each other – and then he fumbles to ca
.
be done the rugged day
see to it we shall sing
of old worlds collapsed
and set to decay
.
know this
.
that in my memory
all things are misplaced
.
your love for me too
.
long set far behind
lying with another
acting innocent
tongue rolling a lie
over itself
like a stone
.
for you intimacy was an act of war
with you as its only hero
and its only casualty
.
kiss the feet of the baker
bend the ear of the shepard
shiver down the firework display
this road is mighty
long and cruel
.
kiss off your satin nightgown
nestle down by the bare radiator
book in hand
but barely comprehending
.
let your bare walls fill wi
Let's clear the air: neither of us
believes the other is real
even when crassly corporeal,
bulking up the produce aisle
the fact of a person can become hazy
milky around the edges
as though through thick cataracts
or a white clot of time
We are each addressing
the uncertain memory of the other
in the same embarrassed way
one reschedules a forgotten appointment.
But despite two ghosts suddenly
appearing next to the tomatoes,
social convention smears
its greasy hands over everything
and one of us takes the dive,
reluctantly asking,
“And how have you been
since middle school?”
Working nights, sleeping days,
When the boys filed off
The bus from school, I'd get up.
Then, bats, gloves, three
Blocks to the Kennedy Park fields,
A tall, gray painter's bucket
With forty balls, the boys
To shag for each other. Swep
Attacked each of his balls,
Sent Jeremy chasing to all corners
Of the lot. I stayed on
Jeremy, left-handed, pitch
By pitch, to pull the ball,
Discover his power.
5 p.m., the boys plopped down,
While I jogged the field
For balls missed in the clover.
"Do you know what happens when a black star dies?" Tony asks, rhetorically, not waiting for an answer. "It collapses in upon itself, and in one last gasp, ejaculates a single burst of energy into the void."
His assistant nods, numbly, pen to paper but motionless, unsure of whether this is something she should be writing down.
"Consider the size of the universe, think about the odds of such a burst of the purest concentration of energy hitting a planet with life on it, let alone this," he pauses waving his hands about, searching for the appropriate words, "this shit hole," he finishes.
She writes 'shit hole' on the notepad.
"And of all the
In ancient days when the island was new, there lived a hunter like none who lives today. KaloKa was this hunter’s name. He walked with footsteps silent as still water, and his arrows could snatch the stars from the sky. Born beneath a warlock’s moon, he understood the words of the wild beasts, and when he wore the skin of an animal he took its shape upon him. His hunting spear brought death like sleep, and at its approach no prey would flee, for its point brought no pain and the creatures of the forest had not learned to fear it.
But though the hunter brought no pain, no fear, there was one who came to hate him: his only brother,
Three months is my average; rarely
do I last any longer playing the role
of lover. I’ve dared myself to resist
the urge to leave, but it goes against
my truths. When lust-minded hands
turn to watchful eyes, I try to decide
if it’s worth it to be wanted for more
than late hours. Lovers begin to see me
as someone to bring home, to occupy
their houses. I find the exits too easily.