Winter Fix

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Brumous nights
And wet skies
Veiled the soft shivers
Of sundered bights…
The talking breeze
Healing whispers so deep,
The surreptitious sensations
Of Erato…

Laced fingers
In thick blood
Under the spread
Of skins…
The melted crud
As warm as cinder
Splashed fire
On two canvases…
The painted souls
In slippery time
Soaked in sweet brine
Sucked out of ghouls
The red so red
As the texture
Of wine
On a white night…

From the depths of me
To the depths of you
Embrace your darkness
And the fireflies will find you…



The Red Corridor!


Skinned in taut darkness,
At the fringes of humanity,

And left to burn.
Burnt yet flickering
Like besieged cinder,

Rose the army of heathens.
Sullied by soot,
The declared abscesses,

Fuse and swell.
Swell into a conflagration,
A colossal dust-cloud,

Of nether feral.
The sequester followed,
By eyes and minds,

Of the avowed and tormented renegades.
Renegades to the
Black suit,

And a civilized thought.
Cold metal,
Gave them fire,

Which was an iron-clad irony.
Irony declaring a chimeric unity,
Of which ‘they’ were not part,

Only the aristocrat.
An esoteric society,
With fedoras and books,

Reading hollow blacken marks.
Hollow words directing

Of a section, of an entire class.
A dialogue then usurped,
By handshake of the cold arm,

With a peep-hole and a shot.
For the zombies had awoken
From the lair

Where they waylaid.
Waylaid in wait,
To paint the canopy

Red, red, red
Red, red, red,

Red, Red, red.
Until a red
Redder than Red

Covered the brazen ground.
Blackened by their hats and coats,
In their death,

Were the aristocrats.
But ‘their’ deaths shined,
With an open eye,

As a red from the sun and skies…

Oh! What a Pyrrhic victory it was!!!!!