rip
      on
      reality
      —
     
    
   
   
    
     
      nce
      Chokes
      me,
     
     
      thoughts
      stagnating
      in
      the
      ordinary.
     
    
   
   
    
     
        
     
     
        
     
     
        
     
     
           
     
     
          
     
     
          
     
     
         
     
     
          
     
     
        
     
     
        
     
     
         
     
     
         
     
     
        
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
          
     
     
        
     
     
         
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      se
      my
      eyes,
     
     
      mundane’s
      grip
      dissolving.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      massive
      hand
      squeezes
      my
      faithful
      club,
     
     
      sabretooths
      cowering
      in
      fearful
      respect.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      elestial
      arm
      hurls
      my
      terrible
      thunderbolt,
     
     
      mortals
      trembling
      in
      awestruck
      reverence.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      ailed
      fist
      swings
      my
      shining
      sword,
     
     
      Mordred
      falling
      in
      bloody
      defeat.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      imble
      fingers
      draw
      my
      mighty
      bowstring,
     
     
      herriff
      cursing
      in
      murderous
      frustration.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      urmuring
      lips
      stir
      my
      smoking
      pipe,
     
     
      n
      listening
      in
      respectful
      silence.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Wwk-like
      eyes
      guide
      my
      flashing
      six-guns,
     
     
      ots
      gaping
      in
      flat-footed
      surprise.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      !-winged
      cape
      hides
      my
      ebon-gloved
      fist,
     
     
      ker
      recoiling
      in
      unexpected
      pain.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      k
      to
      the
      heaven’s
      twinkle
      of
      eve,
     
     
      ‘another
      star
      brilliantly
      lit,
     
    

    
     
      Eyes
      have
      done
      when
      I
      succeeded
     
     
      d
      when
      I
      was
      hurt.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      my
      eyes
      are
      teared,
     
    

    
     
      “s
      as
      you
      pass
      on,
      you’ll
      never
      die
     
     
      in
      my
      heart
      you
      live
      on,
      and
      you
      go,
     
     
      ‘oul
      filled
      search
      for
      God’s
      home.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      alk,
      alone
      seemingly
      on
      a
      smaller
      path
     
     
      loest,
      the
      thought
      of
      your
      goodness
     
     
      Ne
      smile.
      the
      warmth
      of
      your
      soul
     
     
      HY
      spirit,
      as
      it
      always
      will.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      ‘isa
      little
      cooler
      nowas
      I
      say
      goodbye,
     
     
      |
      Wind
      brushes
      my
      cheek
      as
      you
      did
     
     
      *s
      before,
      whispering
      your
      goodbye
     
    
   
   
    
     
      lo
      my
      ear,
      touching
      my
      face,
     
     
      you
      a
      final
      goodnight...I
      love
      you.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      open
      my
      eyes,
     
     
      The
      universe
      contracting.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Reality
      reclaims
      me,
     
     
      The
      librarian
      staring
      in
      concerned
      puzzlement.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Dormancy
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Leaves
      sleep
      beneath
      a
      blanket,
      snowy
      white.
     
     
      Here
      also
      rests
      a
      figure,
      eyes
      closed
      tight.
     
    

    
     
      Its
      feathers,
      stilled
      by
      slumber
      we
      call
      death,
     
     
      Now
      only
      stir
      with
      icy
      breeze’s
      breath.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      The
      icicles
      hang
      mutely
      in
      the
      air.
     
    

    
     
      The
      trees
      sleep
      in
      the
      coats
      of
      frost
      they
      wear.
     
     
      The
      water
      lies
      subdued
      in
      form
      of
      glass.
     
     
      Cruel
      frost
      has
      sheathed
      the
      brittle
      blades
      of
     
     
      glass.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      The
      grass
      will
      soon
      enjoy
      rebirth
      in
      Spring,
     
     
      And
      as
      it
      reappears
      new
      birds
      will
      sing.
     
    

    
     
      For
      this
      old
      bird
      no
      longer
      feels
      frost’s
      sting;
     
     
      Though
      body
      lies,
      its
      soul
      has
      taken
      wing.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Daniel
      LaRonde
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Winter
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Gnarled,
      twisted,
      bare
     
    

    
     
      The
      clucking
      trees
      appear
      as
      fingers,
     
    

    
     
      Grubby
      fingers
      of
      the
      criminal,
     
    

    
     
      Trying
      to
      pluck
      the
      moon
      out
      of
      my
      night,
     
     
      Leaving
      me
      empty,
      Undone.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      To
      the
      trees
      I
      scream
      for
      them
     
    

    
     
      To
      stop
      stealing
      the
      jewel
      of
      the
      night
     
    

    
     
      To
      loosen
      the
      grip
      on
      the
      stars
     
    

    
     
      And
      untie
      the
      Aurora
      Borealis
      so
      it
      waves
      once
     
     
      more
     
    

    
     
      Before
      the
      snow
      flies,
      Covering
      it
      all.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      The
      soft
      cool
      wind
      whispers
     
    

    
     
      As
      a
      woman
      in
      cool
      white
      would
     
    

    
     
      And
      now
      I
      understand.
      Like
      all
      others
     
    

    
     
      I
      saw
      the
      worst
      of
      life,
      bare,
      naked
      to
      the
      bark
     
     
      And
      the
      best,
      covered
      by
      leaves,
      I
      was
      wrong.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Each
      has
      their
      own
      leaf
     
    

    
     
      To
      cover
      their
      shame
      from
      others,
      themselves
     
     
      But
      one
      day
      I
      realized
      my
      leaf
      must
      fall
      too,
     
     
      To
      show
      what
      others
      haven’t
      seen
      or
      known
     
     
      As
      the
      trees
      did
      with
      my
      night
      sky
      at
      winter
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Mike
     
     
      Bertrand
      —
     
    
   
   
    
     
      The
      Morsel's
      Lament
     
    
   
   
    
     
      As
      the
      icy
      drops
      smacked
      into
      his
      brain
     
     
      His
      heart
      began
      to
      cry
      again
     
    

    
     
      A
      single
      teardrop,
      a
      million
      eyes
     
    

    
     
      Is
      what
      cynics
      now
      decry
     
    

    
     
      The
      vampish
      cartwheelers
      try
      their
      tricks
     
     
      With
      Lies,
      the
      Bomb,
      and
      a
      Crucifix
     
     
      The
      spiders’
      webs
      are
      not
      unseen
     
    

    
     
      And
      still
      the
      flies
      are
      caught
      between
     
     
      The
      invisible
      slayers,
      the
      spiders’
      wastes
     
     
      Are
      covered
      over
      with
      impressive
      haste
     
     
      Until
      a
      fly
      decides
      to
      taste
     
    

    
     
      The
      waters,
      but
      by
      then
      its
      too
      late.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      CHORUS
     
    

    
     
      You
      writhe
      and
      wriggle,
     
    

    
     
      struggle
      and
      squirm
     
    

    
     
      And
      deny
      that
      the
      web
      is
      there
     
     
      You're
      like
      a
      pink,
      fat,
      juicy
      worm
     
     
      Underneath
      an
      eagle’s
      stare
     
    

    
     
      The
      way
      out
      is
      too
      scary,
      he
      said
     
     
      And
      this
      leaves
      me
      paralysed
     
    

    
     
      For
      if
      I
      escaped
      from
      the
      web
     
    

    
     
      I'd
      stand
      out
      from
      the
      other
      flies
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Verse
      II
     
    

    
     
      After
      the
      water
      passes
      its
      lips
     
    

    
     
      A
      thing
      will
      grow
      between
      its
      hips
     
    

    
     
      It
      kills
      tomorrow’s
      children,
      then
     
    

    
     
      It
      starts
      upon
      the
      very
      man
     
    

    
     
      Who
      let
      it
      in
      unwittingly
     
    

    
     
      And
      still
      is
      far
      too
      blind
      to
      see
     
    

    
     
      That
      he
      is
      trapped
      beneath
      the
      strands
     
     
      And
      that
      he
      and
      the
      spider
      are
      holding
      hands
     
     
      But
      it’s
      too
      late
      to
      misbehave
     
    

    
     
      For
      this
      fly
      just
      found
      an
      early
      grave
     
    
   
   
    
     
      CHORUS
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Verse
      III
     
    

    
     
      The
      maggots
      are
      fattened
      up
      with
      glee
     
     
      And
      none
      of
      them
      will
      ever
      see
     
    

    
     
      The
      fate
      of
      Mama
      and
      Papa
     
    

    
     
      As
      the
      spider
      stuffs
      them
      in
      its
      maw
     
     
      They’re
      taught
      what
      to
      do
      and
      what
      to
      say
     
     
      (they’re
      more
      palatable
      that
      way)
     
    

    
     
      The
      ones
      who
      shirk,
      and
      smell
      the
      trap
     
     
      Are
      soon
      wrung
      in
      with
      a
      snap
     
    

    
     
      And
      those
      escapees
      who
      dodge
      the
      jaws
     
     
      Are
      not
      allowed
      a
      second’s
      pause
     
    

    
     
      But
      are
      driven
      by
      the
      need
      to
      give
     
     
      Knowledge
      to
      the
      flies
      that
      they
      may
      live!
     
    
   
   
    
     
      CHORUS
     
     
      21