“The beast of the gulch is on the move. It hunts without reason. It kills without eating. Its prey is the sound of a beating heart. Within the shallows of the gulch dwells death.”
Book 9 of The Kingdom’s Disdain is available now!
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A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth. Special Effects Chest pain Is a constant A wall between myself and the body There is a chronology that I am separated from as I hover Above the flesh, noncommittal Like a prince who can’t make up his mind You’re falling into the water You’re stumbling…
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A verse inscribed in fire and light (2017). Sekhmet II (I Started a Dream) I wish they were lions, and not simply Cruel scavengers, who plague us. Give me Scar and not Bannon So that I can try my teeth and claws on something that can claw back A war with flesh and blood, for…
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A poem inspired by the Muse of Cold Earth. End of a Journey Eight fifty five. I awake A pleasure to behold and begin Bells chiming in the back of my skull, my dwelling Definition barring down on the rafters and shingles like drops of silver And the light is filtering through the silver We…
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A poem inspired by the Muse of Cold Earth. Deep Sea Life Vindicate me, God above all kingdoms There are many things that need to be done and undone in a lifetime Ripples wave across the surface of my awareness I am blind Though I feel The ocean of goosebumps on your neck and my…
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A poem inspired by the Muse of Cold Earth. Flat Earth My body is tired from The motions of this world The air resistance pushing against the thread-bare skin, muscle and ligaments Chilling the parts of the soul That are exposed You can’t shout over the full voice of the wind And we are both…
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From The Journals of Tanya Westing, April 2016 to January 2017 A lovecraftian short story. “Man Fires God” I I’ve had a lot of time on my hands since Mike left me, since I left him. It had to be done. He was toxic to me; a cancer to my happiness and future. I was…
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A poem inspired by the Muse of Cold Earth. Good Friday Night I don’t sleep anymore There’s a shadow on the face of the clock and its Sliding backwards across the spiral of the glass We never rose But we were buried And how can anyone return to the womb? – – He bled Splintered…
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A poem inspired by the Muse of Cold Earth. No Gods In my dreams I’m Open I’m like an ashtray, collecting fragments of the things They Burned In the eternal fire For Winter passes Summer rages Spring cries down into the streams And fall Comes when you least expect it Like that unbearable look of…
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