Petunia’s Meaning

“Those who aren’t used to luxury,”
                     she said, waving her fan,
  “once won, act as if they’re manner-born”
                  this pristine heiress is no friend
                                  to any single one —
                       yet her metallic precision

                        So when she inevitably
                            ends flayed on my table
                               and her silk becomes
                                              my doily /
                                         I have to wonder

              what spice to ripen her broth
                                 or should I just guess
                                                         the flavor
                                                            is bitter?



not another ghost

              You may glimpse
                            me between the trees

                         & not even blink
                       × rolls of tangled
                                     bramble shiver/
                               smolder maybe/even
                  exposing a pale waif
                       sw    >     ing<    ing
                     from sweet frenetic rope
     [left for dead/but she chokes]
             knotted|tighter than reality

                      clearer than Halloween
                             smoky as the seer
                        cringing when you
                               discern my song
                                       howling long

                         I may petrify
                   daunt and compromise
                       make the death chair
                                      appear __  palpable

  look hard once the shrieking starts×




The reality is I’m quicker to bleed
  your darkness than your love,
    & I consider it a dying
                                [dead] /habit

                           Like the righteous sense
                                       behind bloodletting
                               A    failure
          best intentioned, I’m certain
             《worked wonders for
                       |||Those shadows can cloak
                              your pale hip in the night
                                with the paintbrush of a
                                    sharp crescent moon

   and whoever lays beside you can
            leave me room. . .
                ruminations of chaos
           call an agent of catharsis
                we all underestimate
                            & demean our baser
                       selves/ its purpose and its
                                uses, but: if nothing else

Fight or flight would
     pack up its things,
     Prepare the front gate
               for soul eviction
gleefully submit to death

              Makes the higher self look
                         pretty fucking dumb
                          Doesn’t it?

                          Not that
                          I don’t
                          Virgin blood


[Authors Note: October has arrived, and all its ghouls with it]


There’s a silvery whine to the breeze
a feathered watch in the trees
[no one seems to hear but me]
perhaps someone lies in wait
for a distraction as they grip a re-tract-able blade?

Tiny neon flashlights and piping children
Trick or treat was never a question
The candy is poisoned!
There was never another option
It was its own reply!

How grave of me//come to clarity//

Dark humor is a luxury, no?
I digress…

What has your soul done
& where has it gone
In all your unfaithful time
Guarding your life arbitrarily
Just waiting to cheat me

As if you could.