Magic Realism and Urban Fantasy

Yes, I will undress for you,
Each garment slowly tossed aside,
And yes, I will confess to you
My wanting, without guilt or pride.

By allowing the elaborate collage of words to paint imagery they may only have encountered dripping out of their most unexplainable dreams…

Pixies highlight the ethereality
as the night sky falls upon you

and i’m boiling,
dressed all in black like a crow or a widow,
wondering why i am where i am
instead of lying in your arms

The knocking noise your tongue makes
Pauses of the silence, spit-back to open a weary insessant scapula bite
Riding a nightmare of twin razors-your refusal to sleep
A glass artifical lake lapping at an …

the city sleeps.

sin rises like a dirty
vapour from off the crazed
paving stones
and permeates the darkness

Scribbles of a life well-lived are all this journal holds.
These pages, torn and tattered, sport coffee stains
and careless drips from a cherrydip ice cream cone.

The wind, on this blue night,
is howling like a banshee,
sad voices carried on it.

sadness and regret
fall
like dirty grey
snow upon the stiffening
corpse

What a mantle of wonder one could weave
if the gift of Rumpelstiltskin were so easily mastered!

the ragged girl
walks up the steps
of the
theatre with dirt-stained
feet, her bare
flesh
on the stone
like the slap of wet
fish.
briefly she listens at the
door’s narrow
crack; then, hearing only mu…

Elation is leaking out of Timothy, dramatically dripping from his frame, moment by moment. It’s always strange when this happens. I dab my finger into his face and allow the serotonin to form…

Sharply throbbing, all the purplegold
receding,
I surrender
to the sound of one heart beating.

In this moment, society’s isolation strikes
me. I am alone, like a bird
peppered from its flock in flight, now
dropped ashore to forever wander aimlessly.

At the center of life is a vacant
chamber, an …

o grayblock razorwired mother,
what secrets does your ancient womb sequester?

Photographs caught helpless in this maddened whirl fly past.
I recognize the smile of some old lover.

One of them stubbed their half smoked cigarette on the back of his neck. He screamed in agony, cried, and ran. Like he always did, pathetic Kevin.