All Roads …

All paths lead to the Black Stage;

The one that hangs beneath the

Impossibly huge,

Lightning cracked

Longhorn bull skull.

But as the peaceful sun

Settles down to rest

In the hills beyond

The gathered tribes

I take a breath, a stance:

Feet below my shoulders.

From that point

Everybody knows;

This is my stage,

My tune, my song.

The notes as diamond-bit

Sharp as always.

“There once was a woman …”

Once ?

We look at each other

And the smiles are

Wider than ever …

Because this time around

We all understand

That the joke  –

If joke it be –

Is on those of us:

The light and the dark,

Children of smoke and water

Who are here in this moment.

Children of the Fortress

Badwitch coming,

Burning down the skies,

On skirts of ragged green fire.


Badwitch coming,

Burning down the walls,

Carrying knowledge of

The dark gods deepest secrets;

Of the key that

Shouldn’t be turned.


We are children of the fortress,

Trembling, waiting;

Holding to the pebble truth:

It’s not what you take away,

But what you get to leave behind

That really, really counts.