cursed amulets and fragments

assorted material roughly 2017 - 2019

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2018-2019 (i think)

The Voice of God


Last night
God spoke to me

With the wind they gripped my hair
All the fire, all the lights
Extinguished in a moment’s breath

And their voice began to sing
And the pressure shook the walls
And I couldn’t bear it
I couldn’t beat it

So I ran until my limbs gave out
But they were right behind me

Leather-violet, silken shroud
In the desert
All my roots gave forth to dust
Silver wrapped up and down my skin
In their grasp, in their hold
They shook me, begging, pleading
And I couldn’t understand
I couldn’t understand

For who could really know the words of God
How could I grasp their meaning
So they shook me til my bones shattered
Tore me open with their pleading
Spilled my blood upon the sand in loneliness

And as they ran away
I wept

Broken open for the flies to feast
I could hear their shout the world over
But I could never understand their meaning

In grief, in loss, in anger
To be lonely, to be lost
I’ll never, I'll never know

For who could know the words of God
And what could They know of us
Forever separate, forever opposed
Two voiceless birds shrieking in the night
Two demons, two spirits
Split asunder as my bones, rotting in the dirt

The Six Arms of Gamourtian

And so upon the wastes, Gamourtian converged
Her beauty met static, became crystalline, and shattered into a thousand flurries
of sleet and ice
Her six trials behind her, her body poisoned by the still festered wound of Allavvayynne,
Her spirit left to wander

In the end,
there was beginning
Never again would the particles that made her be so arranged
And so, she came to lament

The age of gods was forgotten,
Hidden away,
Beneath the Ice

The age of lizards,
long before it
Has ever farther been laid to rest

What would replace her?
What decadence would come to pass, in death of her humility?

And so the Six Arms of Gamourtian were quartered that day
Split, as her soul came home to clouds,
Lilacs roost on the end of passing death,
The sun grows still in splendor
Through emerald, lights rise, silence is come to take hold
And so the world might pass to a new age

Fragments from The Six Trials of Gamourtian


Seven Arms of Gamourtian there were
But now, in vain, they only number six

The wicked stump of Gamourtian’s folly
A monument to Yphiphtius’s tomb
Spillt blood to wage a family war,
undone to break the shelter’s carnage

Seven Arms for Seven Lights
Eight Lights now Seven
Seven Arms Now Six

All disarray in heaven’s sky
Gamourtian’s hand, her victory claimed, but chaos still reigns

All disarray in heaven’s sky,
The cosmic sheath spilled over empty,
The screen cracked through,
Columns torn, foundations shaking
The Seventh Arm Gamourtian left, to crumble in dirt
Til it were only bone

Fragments on The Slaying of the Serpent Allavvayynne and the Six Trials of Gamourtian

dust settles in the open air
the silhouette
a fallen star released herself from the heavens
and gave herself life anew
you’ll meet her in the open field  
leave everything behind and run
take down the exceptional as the sky strips morning of its light
as upon the grey, setting of the fog, emerge the whispers of forgotten things
to hear the whispers in the wake of her path
take down
the exceptional tales
spirits bent, hands bowed
to want, to see
the Six Trials

[...]

the bells ringing
the scales breathe
slow burn, six senses
a shadow crossed the lake
a monster from the depths
the serpent's pride was too deep
Allavvayynne
in silent thought he grew
drew power from the loss
of Iotien’s light
to build the army of Unemeun’s bane

[...]

in the heat of the flames
Gamourtian struck the serpent Allavvayynne
he cried, he wailed, but even upon the edge of peril, he schemed
gave fang to claw, bone to bone
they danced unto the edge of the pit
and with the beast’s last breath, he drug her down

[...]

In the end, she would fight her way through the shadows of Allavvayynne’s domain,
slay the fearsome Gimalyc,
procure the elixir of Iotien’s light
release the line of Unemeun from eternal pain
brutal queen, warrior of light, glamor fiend
her soul a sun, her sword in hand
old, old magic won
a crowd cheers
bright smile
undying grace
trumpets play

but the undying scales
of the serpent Allavvayynne had not been pierced
in silent thought he grew
in shadow prospered
his mouth stretched until it reached the clouds
his skin crackled, fizzed with flame
his flesh tore itself asunder until
from his open maw
he bore a new beast
his double, alike in every way
his being, scorned by Gamourtian’s sword, he would do all he could to her oblivion

[...]

as the duo closed in on 
the domain of the warrior queen
her courage grew,
in pursuit of honor

one serpent took course
to destroy the city of Thisunmar
The other struck for Gamourtian’s home
Together, the fourth and fifth trials had begun

[...]

Unfolding in glorious light,
radiant against the specter of the pale dawn
they pray to Gamourtian
as she stands over the serpent Allavvayynne to hold his twin heads in victory
the Gimalyc slain,
Iotien’s light saved,
the line of Unemeun freed
the city of Thisunmar praised

now, she passes into the silent fog
freed of her debt
immortalized in honor
she will grow six arms to reward her suffering
and her legend will fade to whisper
a golden vessel, upheld reminder of inspiration 

The Void

I’m in the void
licking windows,
tasting serpents,
pulling the last strand of yarn from the recesses of my thought

I wear its silence like a cloak,
Exhaling warmth into molded balloons,
Filling space with sight and sound
Watching dreams fall from the sky,
To crash and bang and break and tumble
Metal wrought around a bleeding heart
Ten inch rods of steel that pierce and cut,
A shadow restrained by debris from the crash

I feel it all in front of me
Just beyond the ends of my fingertips
Lights and color, brilliant gradients and humble creases
I see the crack thats hard to spot,
The camera caught inside the frame,
The dent in the glass,
The ripple, translucent, that moves through the air, a false stitch that stains the fabric

Will I ever see it whole again?
If you take something apart
If you get to know the pieces
If you start to understand its limits
How can it ever really feel as one?

I will follow my path to the edge of the desert
I will wade through the darkest hour of night,
And I will vanish upon the horizon,
Led along by unseen string,
A cord belonging to force,
A song that is only sung to me

As it goes now,
I will die before morning’s light

---

2017

Covert Totem

Exchange for something,
Crossing Over—
As cast light begets a shadow,
A Victim Mimics Her Thief In Order To Survive.

Deprived, bereft, moonlight toil,
Crossing Over—
Yet there remains, a sting:
The Sky Changes Color At Night To Flit The Cause Of The Rising Moon.

Forced terror by change
Staying Here—
My value fills your vacant pot:
These Things Become Beautiful Where They Have Been Made Anew.

And so goes the tale
Crossing Over—
But crux, covert totem,
You Still Gave Me Life, When All I Had To Offer Were Cigars.

Hydrophobic, In Lubrication

There’s no kind of truth found in water,
Meaning cannot be determined by under,
Far under, farther under still,
These things sit in cold, by light filled.
In something, under something, through something
You’ll find close approximations of nothing.
It isn’t conducted; I am not the source of unkept dreams—
More like seams, or themes, a thousand seas,
Unwashed, spilling over into darkest brine.
Entwined, confined, under and over, but never mine.
I’ll make an association here: a connection in oil,
Slick, untamed and dangerous; disloyal, disloyal,
But only by my conventions, these machinations,
You’d find an end to your path in excess taken.
Then molded, then formed, then given over to higher forms.
In light in love in livid color: you give skies to the fierce and torn
And I give impatience to the scrape of your breath,
It passes along long-gone skin in silence,
A well dried up in the throws of a passing storm.

Turpid Darkness

It wasn’t orange, it was open
It wasn’t orange, it was cold, indifferent
It dragged its feet in staggered step, through orange mud
Its breath full of orange skies,
Consuming orange galaxies, orange worlds, leaving cuts of orange diamonds in its 
wake.

Quick as light, like sun reflected at pink and orange splendid dawn, it was 
undone.
It wasn’t orange, it was broken
It wasn’t orange, it was quelled
Carved by fine hands, in wooden boards and orange peels, turpid darkness coated 
with bone-dry petals of long-cut flowers.
It wasn’t orange, it was nullified, an orange void that choked the shimmering ripples of an 
orange lake.

Like still air, it glistened as I cried, urging tears to build new streams and bring a new rush of 
cold indifference, replacing the negated with orange
Living without orange
Breathing without orange
I’ll retire into dreams, through open archways, past monuments long-gone, taking a ticket 
out the side door so distant, so hidden, I’ll forget every trace, every shade or
tint of something that once looked like orange.

Unwanted

shrinkwrap tastes like silver, if you let it
and all the gloss of plastic starts to burn
if you imagine that it sparks
it all is bent, it can all be broken

its akin to the impact
of a baseball bat to a window,
which if you’re not careful
could shatter on its own, before you hit, and dissipate into smoke

and gold shines down from the heavens
and lands upon the sludge and the bile and the scourge
it makes it anew
and from its roots grow tall trees,
and in the spring,
their branches dance heavy with plums and apples and peaches

find another way to let it all go to hell
and in the chaos
soap tastes like leather
metal becomes liquid
the kiss of spring in the air burns your tongue, and fills your throat with poison

i watched a shadow move across the room,
and in my distraction
the carpet became cardboard,
and once i’d fallen through the floorboards
i found myself in the lowest circle of hell

speak it into ether
and have it refracted back upon you
blink
and wonder why you even existed
and if you’re lucky
you’ll never have to find out!

A Footnote About A Name

His name, was Garvey
Garvey surveyed the roots, the rocks, the Forest On The Beach,
Tossing stones into lake, under golden sun
Garvey’s love in written oak,
He lies there still, but smaller,
A sack of poison ashes, lurking underneath the roots
Garvey loved to set the crabs on fire, crack crack, limbs broken, tossing them as boomerangs into the crashing surf

It still was poison then, the lake
Fumes drifted to shore
Bringing with them a stench, but it was the kind of stench that Garvey Loved

All Sorts Of Things Washed Up
Webbed Wings,
Sticky fingers,
Sandwich crusts,
And apple cores.
Garvey filled them all with poison, coated them with caramel filling, and brought them gently to his master’s door

Every day, like clockwork,
Filling sacks with useless trinkets, bird calls, frozen homes, the scent of Everglades as it decays, filling pus left open, doors left close, machinery singing along to his beating heart, Garvey carried his burden daily.

Bare foot on rocky shore,
Bare foot on bed of thorns,
Bare foot in bloody trench,
Over silver hills to his master’s door

And each night, as he drifted into sleep
Garvey felt warmth at knowing he’d done a good day’s work