Mother-wings

Oh, beautiful half-fledged
thoughts of mine
peeping out
from the mother-wings,
mad as a hare,
and should be in chains

Ella Wheeler Wilcox's Inner Goth Girl

I started working on this book months ago, then got sidetracked when Harried died. I've started working on it again. I haven't scanned any of the new pages yet, but have been photographing the poems as I finish them. Mostly so that when a cat inevitably scatters the pieces, I know how to put them back together.



Forget all these dead
still
ever and always
Who sit down, uninvited
And make a nightmare
of solitude.



This is what the carcass of the donor book looks like. I mostly took a photo of it because book abuse makes people cry, and I'm a total jerk. But honestly, I think I'm making it better! Ella Wheeler Wilcox is just plain awful, so I like to believe that helping her get in touch with her inner goth girl is adding value. Right?

A Tiny Poem

I see the stars above me,
world on world
ghosts
come out of the gloom.

We rise up

We rise up tangled
with the night.
Down shadowy lanes,
across Strange distances
We have come
ready for the fight.

Winnowing