Disconnect

Photo by C. Hornby

This is a fool’s story warped into submission

Say what you want to say?

No one wants to listen

No one will help us sleep at night and

no one can save that kitten

No one wants to know if it is spring

or winter

Or whether the stars were bitten

Faithful

time is a monster                     asleep under the carpet

so easy to trip up on                to cover in never

with purples and yellows                    not just for pictures

but her yesterday sees            

her tomorrow remembers

The Witch & the Doll

Her glassy eyes drove me mad.  In a fit of rage, I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife.  She said something in that dull, mechanical voice of hers as I slapped her down on the counter, but I refused to listen.  Instead I raised the knife high in the air and crashed the knife down across her neck, like a human guillotine. 

Her round plastic head jerked back, separated from its body.  It balanced on the edge of the counter for a long second; she cast me one last glassy-eyed look before her head then hit the floor.  It seemed to roll forever, until it finally came to rest underneath the sink.

I laid the knife down on the counter.  With some uncertainty, I pushed my fist into her dolly stomach, but nothing happened.  She was silent at last.

I had killed it.  I had killed the doll.

Waking up

I woke up just as my foot hit the grass.

I felt around next to me, but the dog who smelled like cake had gone.

In fact, I was no longer in the woods.  I was in a bed, in a room. 

Not the room, however, in the Great Hall.

I felt my back.  The fairy wings had gone.  

The Oily Puddle

I slipped inside of the

oily puddle today.

Even though I knew it

was there.

The twig you threw was good

enough to save

itself, barely.

Still, it was the strangest thing.

While I was waiting,

suddenly I had this tree.

Not much moves me,

but I had to move for the roots.

They were so big.

It burned inside, I know it.

The petrol had to burn the

branches inside,

had to leave scars that

never turn white.

The explosion would have

horrified you,

had you waited to see.

Oil does that—

it explodes.

And then there is nothing left.

Not even a twig.

Fading

hold my hand for just

a little while...

we are moving

and fading

on and on

The End of the Game

here in your believing

triumph is fleeting

from so far away

no tongues left to speak in

Reckoning

When I opened the cage and released the girl, she howled past me, a cyclone powered by atomic pain.  I crouched against the wall and covered my ears but I could still hear her screams, the terrified shouts of those in the lost restaurant, as she raged deadly witness against them.

After it was all over the followers had gone, sucked up in the girl’s funnel cloud.  Everything lay on the ground, broken.  The restaurant would not be serving again.

I was wondering with a pang of regret where Marietta had gone when a dishevelled figure with a lopsided purple hairdo and an old face limped over to me.  The cruelty in her expression was now mingled with resentment.  We just stood and looked at each other for a while, until she said, “You think you have won.  But the spell is broken for you, too.”

“I know,” I answered.  “But at least I can live with myself.”

“We’ll see about that,” she replied.  She then disappeared, rather against her will, I thought, into a cloud of foul-smelling smoke.

The Fire Within

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Locked in

So much and so completely ignored

ripping the hinges off of the doors

catapulting me into a world where

daydreams remember