The Life and Times of Mutants, Death Gods, and Other Things Not Quite of This World. A Manifesto.

January 25, 2010
They are always with me.
Within and without, unraveling tangled ink,
Tugging at my fingertips,
Dipping into my conversations
For a distant taste of realization.
A drop, a sip, of that glowing ambrosia
In Their crystal chalices:
Opium to the existentially challenged.

They are six,
And They are always with me.

First and foremost it is She.
She is always with me.
The one of lip liner and champagne giggles,
Ecstasy nights and hangover days,
Lurking serenity beneath her electric skin.
She is the star that lights up the night,
Thirsting for love in all the wrong ways.
Cigarette cravings at midnight.
It’s time to leave again.
“He never really loved me.”
She lives in lightning,
Sleeps in ice,
Swallows diamonds and Dom Pérignon.
Her words cradle you, peppermint sweet,
Overindulgence seeping into your skin.
She is the star that lights up the night.

Her light casts a shadow.
Every light casts a shadow.
It is always with me.

Her Shadow creeps, wretched, in the webs.
In the webs her eyes are watching,
Wretched,
Frozen gold hunting your first sign of weakness.
Patron saint of white widows,
Angelic, blanched of mortal color…
All she’s missing is the virtue.
Crawling through your sins, she lingers
Just off-camera but so conspicuously there.
She is a murder in the moonlight,
Bones under clear night sky,
Pale and pure but so devoid of light.
(“Pure? Maybe purely demonic.”)
Craving your scream, she devours from the waist up
Leaving her sin-stained fingerprints
Anywhere her avarice lies.
Her words are designer razors
Spinning from her lips.
She is the white shadow.

Her Shadow’s antithesis: mercy.
Mercy is here;
She is always with me.

Cradling the child never borne,
She enshrouds the blameless,
The victim,
Wrapping feathered arms around trembling whimpers.
She is a kiss goodnight and a hug goodbye,
A tuck-in and a check for monsters.
Her heart, so swollen
After being battered and bruised
And parched of love
Still thirsts for overcompensation,
Still craves
The perfect family.
A hand on her stomach,
She acts like she can’t feel the part that’s missing.
She is the timid glow of a single candle in the darkness.

The timid glow of a single candle in the darkness
Is all that they can see by.
They are always with me.

Quiet Gemini,
Born of the same,
Yet grown to the converse.
The eldest’s cup overflows with empathy.
He reaches for acceptance dangled, tantalizing,
Stumbling over spite and vengeance.
A quiet touch and soft words,
Questing blind for happiness in the hopeless,
He is an angel drowning in sinners.
The youngest’s eyes,
The richest green of avarice compounded by envy,
Watch sharply in careful calculation.
Cut those closest,
Through careful calculation.
He is the gun before the shot,
Cold and unforgiving in the trembling desert sun.
Manipulation drips like honey from his lips,
Only serving to trap those who get too close
In its sticky sweet.
Once you’re caught you can’t escape.

But the young Gemini is not the only danger.
The Snake is always with me.

Lying hidden beneath the sands,
Venomous sidewinder coils in wait,
Eyes as radioactive as the dry city in which she lives.
Piercing, watchful,
Unfeeling and merciless.
Her hands stained red and heart beating with cold blood,
She survives on life stolen,
Drinking ambrosia of pure human
In the darkened den beneath the sands.
She is an intolerant machine in a rusty city
Surviving to exist, existing to survive.
Love and sympathy bear no hold.
She has no need for them, nor they for her.
Queen of switchblade choreography
Dancing in the dry evening wind,
She cuts the figurative silence
With a less than metaphorical hatchet.

They are always with me, and they are six of many.
Opium to the existentially challenged
In their crystal chalices,
A drop, a sip, of that glowing ambrosia
For a taste of realization.
Dipping into my conversations,
Tugging my fingertips,
Within and without, unraveling tangled ink,
They are always with me.

I write
To breathe
Life
Into my children.





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