Tag Archives: rebirth

Cubist Pin-Up

Psychically dismembered since birth, Grace walked her palms to her feet, and prayed that everything lost, in between, would return ritually transfigured. Advertisements

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Song for the Meek

It has finally come, bearing a fount of bruised petals, blood-pink and white and reigning silvered silence, the year the meek inherit the earth, the plight of sensuous souls flown within to claim tenderest grace on loan from God’s rimless … Continue reading

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Boneyard

Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard, in order to reach the garden.

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Ashes to Ashes

Out of the ash-heap, she imagined something new would emerge, but when the wind blew and scattered the ashes to reveal nothing but scorch-marks upon scarred earth, she understood, with a great sense of loss, that form followed function only … Continue reading

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God’s Word Against Mine

And on the eighth day she was diagnosed an Artist, and saw that it was good and fierce and necessary, and went forth creating like a madwoman, rattling gravity shackles to the din of furor and crumbling towers within.

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Sacrifice

It is strange, and indelibly touching, how a sacrifice to the winter gods and summertime sadness co-exist as one and the same thing.

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Coyote, a Christmas Story

Get on with your dying, Coyote urged. It is time. I was scared. I was scared of the unknown. I was scared of letting go. Scared of dissolving my identity. Who would I become? That is the nature of metamorphosis, … Continue reading

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Unfinished

There is an epitaph marking the life we have lived from the ones we have not. This is where I begin to separate the words from their cause, running on, unfinished, end to start.

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Corset

In a vain attempt, she corseted herself in green wind and cellophane, votive to a thin whip of air. As she lay there, colors emptying to gray, before the round voices and fast hands came, she fell in and saw … Continue reading

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Innocence

Blindly, blindly, blindly, she reaps every choice from my scythe and asking. I live with brute innocence and murder in her heart. I am not her child, I am her fiction, her sad fable and paling wrath.

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