Snake in a Can

coiled deep

within her cells

lie dormant serpents

seething sensory snippets

of the past

in inopportune moments

unseen approach

innocuous but unexpected

ring of a phone

the snake strikes

bursting from her chest

in darting heart

and thrashing breath

she laughs off

her shocking jump

reassuring startled colleagues

she is tightly tethered

to sanity and reality


(art: Johann Ulrich Krauss)

Letting Go

with the effort of one thousand yeomen

I prise the wilted tendrils of ether

from my clenched and clammy hands

having longed with a furor near delirium

for enchantment

for silver-spun magical threads

love strung by iridescent fairies

I grasped at shifting shadows

clung to drifting feathers with ferocity

in my feverish clutch

wings of paradise crumbled

celestial ballad faded

with herculean strength

I open my cramped fingers

release frayed beauty

wishing upon my fallen star-self

Phoenix-like, after the inferno

captivation, free, may re-birth




riding the crest of a moment of power

I crash facefirst into the trough

choking on salt-water spray


I scrabble upon the shore


scraped upon the grit

resurgent in pounding grief

tonight will not be the night

I control the storm

pulse lightening from my fingertips

I survey the shipwreck

knowing I was

not the captain

tonight survival is power




disguise themselves masterfully

competing for honors at Carnival

cherubic and beaming

they devise diabolical inducements

haloed incubi

ferret out hapless innocents

roasting over flames

display for her

their spit-turned agony

heart bursting

she inevitably

scrapes and gnaws away bindings

bloodied in the clawing

only to discover

scorched limbs

-possessed by parallel demons-

refuse release


she covers their charred skins


curling herself around

melting flesh

having not yet

met her own demise

but carrying scars

in incinerated futures

this time

she catches a whiff

of smoked hopes

amongst fiendish enticements

does not abandon

smoldering victims

of their own monsters

slashes at ties

cajoles unprising

from frozen captive

when inferno rages


martyr remains


she lets go

blisters rise

over heart and dermis

looks her demons

in their glowing eyes








Sing, Nightingale

my tongue remains

whole, intact

yet strangely tied

on subjects

of my subjugation

a likely consequence

of messages

spoken and


on the importance of


no boat rocking



deference to authority

using my manners

being considerate

toward others

being, in general

a good Catholic girl

I am done

biting my tongue

to protect you

from discomfort

at hearing

the reality of

my experience


no more


Ms. Nice Gal


quiet is unnerving

air, in its stillness

belies the charged tension

weighting her


birds flutter


mocking static strain

with aimless


heaviness of heart


burdens crush

denser in

stagnant portent

breath thickens

saturated with apprehension


as she listens

for a gathering storm

(image: Deviant Art)