Chalk Marks on a Dead Soul

This picture is entitled "Chalk Tears" and it was created specifically for the verse below.

Chalk Marks on a Dead Soul

A prettiness mummified by years of chalk dust.
--Richard Eder

We would take turns
counting our sins
in chalk tally marks
on the alley wall
beside her church.

It evolved into a game that would last
from cloudburst to cloudburst.
(The goal was to see
who could amass the most sins
to be washed away by God.)

So when they lift
the fingerprints
from the bruises
found on her dead soul,
it is no surprise
they are mine.

The hunt leads them
to the alley by her church
Where I kneel
with rivulets of tears
streaking my chalk-covered cheeks,
praying for rain.

A World of Belligerent Men

This image is called "Haystack Evolution".

A World of Belligerent Men

Her back evolved into pavement
and belligerent men
drove streetlights into her spine
so they could tread on her
day and night.

Some brought drill-bits and shovels
and would drill
through blood and sinew
hoping they would strike her soul
and sell her spirit in bottles
to those that had need of one.

Before long,
her frame began to fold
and she bore a nation
on her fragile flesh.

I know because
I would stray from the pavement
journey to her eyes,
drink in her tears,
and pretend
(for just one moment)
that I was important.

Counting Rainbows

This image is entitled "Shattered Passion" and it was created specifically for the verse below.

Counting Rainbows

At night, we fall with a kiss
into fragile sheets
that shatter into shards of glass.

Frenzied with lust, we are sliced
and cut with each arch and thrust
until exhaustion claims desire
and we lean against the wall
awaiting morning.

The day peeks through the window
and we are bathed in sun blossom
as the dissected light
of a thousand jagged prisms
dance upon spent passion
and we die in each other's arms
counting rainbows.

Stolen Sylph Wings

Stolen Sylph Wings

"Wisps of time
curl between Her lips
like misted breath
on a frosty day."

Sylphs dance on
Her wind-blown kisses
until summer rains
pelt them to the ground.

Frustrated, aroused,
and denied flight,
they roll in mud
with earthbound creatures
until they are satiated
and fall asleep in the arms
of mud-dwellers
awestruck with their enchantment
and myth.

Only when the rain stops
and they wake
groggy-eyed and wingless,
do they realize
they have been caged
by envious men
--jealous of flight,
jumping off cliffs
with pilfered sylph wings
ecstatic with a few moments
of stolen magic
before breaking their
damn necks.

Spirit Trafficking

This picture is entitled "Devilspeak".

Spirit Trafficking

On nights my tongue thickens
and I sit naked and dumb-eyed
staring at the witches
swimming in her veins,

she curses me, drags my flesh
to the light
and plucks the ghosts
out of my hair.

She gathers them in bowls
while singing lullabies
and when she has enough,
she drowns them in their sleep
with musk and sandalwood oil,
wraps them in pretty fabric
and sells them to tourists
seeking charms to protect themselves
from losing their money.