As Much Help

Stars full of statics and rains,

Sleeps full of sharks

And poison-bomb planes;

The frames as much help as the door,

When the test leaves scar marks

And your soul’s face is pressed to the floor

And you’re still going down.

Every straight’s a corner

Every down is always up a hill.

The one you picked won’t

Everybody else’s will.

Dungeon Imp

On the dark, dancing edge

Of candle flame’s tiny

Tortured shadow

A small blind imp

Pours  long-hoarded

Poison into the

Dungeon’d angels goblet,

Praying that nothing,

Oh please let there be

Nothing watching, Continue reading