by Dylan Bel Myrrha
Block after block after block
I’m stuck, I’m wasting time.
Wound down, a broken clock.
A rusted winch, teeth gritted,
Snarling, blanch-boned,
A stripped bare, naked witch.
Pixie-led, glutted on Sidhe-
Glamoured wine, tripping the verge,
Dancing the void, losing time,
The compass-needle spinning wild.
These days, I’m the void.
The barren mother held fast
In the fist of the promised child.
One step, a thousand, away
From the manifest.
Each tiny movement,
The gnawing of mice
On these white bones,
These cataract-glazed
Eyes, their visions waning,
Search every miniscule thing.
Somehow the dragon’s hot breath
On the back of my neck
Obscures meaning.
Where is the golden-green?
Where is the open sea?
Where is the leaping wisdom
In the cauldron of my dreaming?
I see nothing but
Poison apples in my hands, the cold
Forge, the ravaged land,
And the tiny signs, my Sight–
Lost in the forest’s dimming light.
Writer * Educator * Artist * Adventurer 