Blood of Revenge

In the dark valley between here,
and there,
is madness beyond what the eye can see.
On grooves of inky blackness,
on flesh of white linen,
blood forms words.
In mind, caged beasts,
inside a body, pages curl.
If you prick the beasts
they will bleed words in revenge.
Poising you with blood,
dripping from their tongue
onto the fabric of your soul.

                              (April '12)

Little Death (work-in-progress [May])

Moaning hymns of flowers,
she lay bouquets at the grave,
whispered words bloomed for
you; her little death began.

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