magic – The Light is On

Wretched

Ink in the deepest veins, coursing and flooding out to the plains...

In his right hand a sceptre, in his left a tattered grimoire...

Sipping from a glass of daylight I scooped out of the time passing by. Waiting for nothing to happen and eager for it...

Give in to the whispered magic spell and sleep among the willows here...

Edges so ragged they do not know themselves on a rendezvous at the far side of infinity...

These phantoms come crawling out of shadow eyes like dead stars, mouths twisted into smiles...

I know that if I just dig deeper, carve enough of myself away— a pound of feathers and a pound of flesh—when all is said and done I’ll find an end...

The words all laid out on the table, magic spells and treasure maps scratched out by invisible hands...

Skin pressed to a glass wall, flesh taken the shape of servitude and lungs filled with a feeling of dying...

Those on the road wailing at the stars came to the crossroads and met eyes smoldering...

It isn’t all one single phosphorescence, clinging to our exhaled breath for dear life...

Then out to the highlands over shadow we go where candles light the way...

The lights up ahead grow near but never seem to coalesce beyond vague outlines over the highway...

Home was already gone long before time came to take it away...

Together carving scars into the riverbank to outlive the wind and rain...