From stem to pointy tip, Vic observed the ghost peppers transition from zesty green to boiling florescent red to ominous orange, tone brighter and hotter than a highlighter. The ghost peppers grew in pairs, scary barbed sentinels of verdant scoville despair.
They knew the THE BEEP: the government screaming, scientists brazenly peeling the alarm, a digital archangel with an emergency expostulation too clamorous to be ignored in the brewing, palpating environment of atmospheric surges.
The witches laughed horribly, prepared their terrible run amok potions, & hopped on their turkey vultures to fly far above the fall leaves – three witches out to make horrible Halloween last forever.
I lay my mat back out, kneel in warrior to prepare for my practice, find my breath freer without the trampled carpet crowding & connect with the clean wood underneath, which speaks of a life growing, grown, & gone, but present, purposeful, & persistent.
As Rosemarie swept around the golden oak with her handfast besom broom, she smelled their putrid souls & heard their wicked purses before she saw their sanctified countenances, Magistrate Price’s steed outstepping the rest of the rabble.
The hum of the blaring air conditioner is a steady dank drone, time’s crisp ticks mushing minutes into months.
Lost in the library but never alone, humanity abound in the folio utopia of complex conclusions & borrowed drama, extended periodical pleasure of temporal exploration.
Throbbing over tonality, the book breathes & brutalizes itself behind my breastbone, bruising & burning with bass.
While scissors sleep
Lifecycle personified, twisting & slicing paper galaxy
Three sisters spin, weave, & sever individual patterns of tapestry
Red Thread Dread
Dread Red Thread
“The forest feels & if you’re not careful, it follows.”
“Galatea is her own light & her life is art itself.”
“Holiday pops on the red nose, snaps his oversized striped suspenders, spins sillily over gigantic shoes, & with a flourish & happy hop-step, slaps on his tiny top hat…”
“Mrs. Leeds, quick as a snakebite in a midnight desert, stabbed Mr. Silar again & again; she passed the knife to Mrs. Leeds who, quick as the blood already flowing, stabbed Mr. Silar again & again. The hot gate of Mr. Silar’s life remained, accompanied by screams of repugnant revulsion & terrified fading.”
“The Trick or Treaters covered their faces and went house to house, demanding treats, razing tricks, their daily route of terror amplified with candies, emboldened by masks, and highlighted by the horror of the holiday.” (The Trick or Treaters: Nightmare Before Christmas Lock, Shock, Barrel Story.)
“A bold, aristocratic voice spoke from behind the guests, ‘It seems I have gotten here just in time; I am Perfecto Rosso. Welcome to my estate and The Fall Ball!’ “
“The Hanging Tree did not move, did not waver, did not ask any questions, did not care, impartial as a door, decisive as a mob.”
“She had been the loveliest girl, my Carolina, and had once stood tip-toe on one of the protruding roots to plant a kiss on my quivering mouth. ‘Darling Marcher,’ she whispered in my ear when Mother wasn’t looking, ‘I swear to you, while standing over the bones of our ancestors, I will be the one…
“The firewater that ran through Old Tarpy’s guts burned hot as the colors splashed across the early evening sky. Old Tarpie & Cowboy sat on the porch, Tarpie’s back bent over & crooked like the rocker on his warped wooden chair; he drank ‘til the darkness of the night matched the darkness in his heart.”
“Crazy Cat turned to the people in the pub, his signature smile wiped all over his fuzzy face, fangs shining, and began, ‘Have ya’all ever heard The Legend of Crazy Cat?’ “
“On Dia de Muertos, when the dead rose, Ambrosio’s music for his quiet love was played from above ground, to the barren branches & dancing death.”
“It says here Wallenpaupack means “slow, dead water.”
“Just as the lion cannot trade in his teeth that tear though flesh, The Hessian could not deny his sword its bloody fill.”
It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations, from one end of the continent to the other, from this time forward forever more. -John Adams
Green gardens run red. For V & V.
“Dr. York carried the sagging bodies and the sodden limbs to the community grave of the bone yard and in the quiet of the midnight moon, buried the human pieces, the heavy hopeless clay encasing his boots and hands.”
“Have you girls ever heard of The Jersey Devil?”
“The light of love is born when together with hearing and seeing, disciples take the Body and Blood of Christ.”
“The fire pit still smoldered … There was a glowing red heart log, pulsing, breathing the clear fall air as two black circle eyes stared from every direction.”
“The Gravedigger worked all night, digging, picking and lifting. He was the worm in the casket & stole his way into Laurel Hill’s final rest.”