Fade To Gray ID

WebI have woven impossible dreams of delicate threads, so transparent they can't be seen. So diminutive I can barely cling to the soft andWeb
frail strings I have sent into the wind hoping for an anchor.
Sometimes, the light may be right or a short shower of dew may glisten subtly; sometimes, if you look just so you can see me dancing on the fragile filaments and fibers trembling in a forgotten corner.
All This Beauty is of God
Divinity
At the Lake

Contagion: A BalladHer head rocks with fever, her teeth grind with fury, but when our eyes lock its like toxic shock her hips jerk and my mind blocks my gun cocks her fists pound the glass I think what her heat would taste would feel theContagion: A Ballad
thud of heartbeat in eardrums to the beat
of her balled hands on tempered glass.
We can't breathe the same air but I still want to stroke her, tongue her, ignore the blood
or swim in it like the others who paw and tear her sweet skin full of sick full of sin full of
everything I want and can't touch all these weeks wearing masks I think I'll chan
Pandemic
Quarantine ID
Crossroads
Tete-A-Tete
Spring 2007
Ich Liebe Dich

PriestessBend and feel this sacrifice goddess quakes and will not rest blood is not enough her anger evoked and penance required at my hands and makeshift altar prayers and prey and needles kneeled opened chests and treasure boxes velvet lined for beating hearts marking stop by step dance up pagan monument sun-worshipping shoulders bare and armed to the teeth to fangs to sink into flesh most sweet kisses snagging lips like over-ripe fruit in this heat-stroked ritual drum pounding echo jungle beat or is it ear to my chest your breath catching lung pump to pump musculatuPriestess


ExorcystExor-rip and scrape kneel backward shrieker while blinking inner eyelids inside-out hanging by taloned ankles barest new fanged contraptions to excise papal blessings and burn like holy water. Snicker, tricker treats of flicking wings finding eaves and beams to clutch and watch the prayerful through ages upon ages demoniacal traipsing insurgencies and surgeries hold down intrinsic worthy victims just aExorcyst
little weak and a mote sick for world weary bleary eyes and teethy gnashing gashes to tear. Be Gone! Commandments und
Ichthial

Broken HorseBroken HorseBroken Horse
By Erika Schmidt
The Head My head hurts. That’s the simplest way to start the story. I feel like a permanent vice grips my head and the screw tightens on the left, where the titanium plates and screws and nuts and bolts reside just beneath my skin. The scar creeps like a pink slug from my left ear to the crown of my skull. The fuzz of shaved hair has grown back nicely. I have thick hair to hide the scar, the evidence of my suffering. But I’ve always had a cyst in my brain. Look at the image, the inverted blac
Ocular