Silver Cords

The hill of dirt, loose shale, and ragged weeds above my small, suburban house makes a pauper’s throne looking east, to the rising sun.

A lukewarm bottle of red wine I’ve been nursing all night, watching the skies, looking for the missiles or UFOs or angels that will come end it all.

In the half light of earliest sunrise, I wonder if I’ll see the souls of the pure remnant rising to the sky like silver cords, or the silk sails of newborn spiders.

I feel the cold in this early spring, and the chill tells me judgement is coming, the blooms will turn their heads and open in the world, bless Persephone.

Watching the skies, drinking down my fear and hatred, as early spring is just an endless winter, Demeter fucked right off in disgust, back turned to insure doom.

I hold close to a fading memory, of a sweet afternoon, a pretty girl, my first kiss, the last hurrah for innocence, before I became just another demon earning wrath for Earth.

I hope Katie is and uncut silver cord rising to the sky, safe and warm as whichever demon comes for us.

I hope she did not fall.



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