The Incident at the Actor’s Café

She kicks in the door
fishnets with snakeskin boots
Lithe and limber
she glides into the seat across the table
in perfect beat with the music

She says
“Love has two faces”

She signals the server that she’ll have two beers
Says
“One face is the satisfaction of the biological imperatives
(One of my personal favorites)”

Her empty bottle describes gravity’s rainbow
as it arcs perfectly into the recycle bin
She says
“The other is the pummeling of a helpless phone
when the bastard just wont answer”
(OK that one’s gonna leave a mark)

She caps the second one
orders two more
(One for me?)

Tonight her hair is a pale December moon with tips of fire
Tonight she keeps perfect rhythm
She grabs my hand
grabs my attention and says, “Can you feel it?
There are infinite worlds wrapped in the ten dimensions demanded by string theory”

She says
“In another place fish are swimming across the moon
leviathans are sliding across the floor
and you are hopelessly in love me”

She stands
stretches
“All I wants to know is
would such an unrequited love kill the muse for you?”

She hands me a pen from the back pocket of her too tight jeans
Produces a piece of paper for some unfathomable place
Says
“Love must always have two faces
so draw me with your words”

The forth beer follows the third
(Sooner or later the glass has got to break)

She says
“Let your words paint my lips
That I might savor them like chocolate
as you speak them into silken silence”

Says
“Pour the blood of your soul out through your mouth
Let go your heart and learn to fly”

The whole of the World holds it breath
intersecting at the point where her hand touches my hair
“I would that you might paint me
in the pangs and shards of a young man’s love”

Feeding the Muse

He was there in the darkness
Echoes in the silence of his dirge
    singing of a muse
    a harsh mistress
 No longer able to control his actions
    in the plane of the Imaginary
The place where anima and animus
    wage endless war
As though one or the other
    could ever win
And he
    the passive witness
Yearns for closure
    an end to naming

She
Creativity at its most destructive
Power
Grim resolve
Philosophical spirit
    lost in this age
It lies captured
In this dead man’s hands

Et’Orneina ~ Muse of the Night

Her kiss is the cool of the evening
Her belly arches from horizon to horizon
Tiny fragments of diamond and silver strewn
In constellations of velvet jet flesh

Her kiss does not deny the Day
Nor the many wonders of Light
Her kiss fills my thirsty mouth with moon wines
Her kiss zephyrs my sun drenched brow

I lean into the twilight skyline
She lifts me from my heavy feet
Lifts me over and above the Euclidean house boxes
Where men and women disassemble themselves

I lean into Her dream stream and become all fuzzy
Relinquishing all pretense of control
I release the moment so that I may know it
In her gentle embrace
I touch and become the stuff of Dreams

Encounter with NuxZye

there on a road along the outer zones of Regwen
a road straight out of Shakespeare’s nightmares
on a twisted cobble road twining the high ranges of craggy Mounts-et-Erabis
where perpetual thunder heads boil from the throat of the Abyss
where never ending thunder roars like waves at the Sea
echoing through a forest of dead oaks
a forest of black-lightning forking from the earth
seeking the belly of the pewter sky

there
under a sky flickering crimson and grey
she stands in my path
one of the Femdroid Warrior Women
one of the High Guard by the look of her Livery and stance
one who stands alone in a forsaken place

there she stands without hail or greetings
her dark eyes unwavering are they slice through my soul
eyes of ice and fire
eyes that have seen everything and yet, reveal nothing

a man could die in those eyes
if he was lucky

In Service to the Muse

Gentle One
You may relax into my work
I write it
I create it
   with nuggets of your thoughts
       written into its DNA

I open my work
Like i open my hand
When i want to feel the morning sun
Light on Flesh

I offer my work
The way the mountain spring offers its waters
If you drink
    well and good
If you pass
    well and good

My task is to offer
Without expectation
My task is to amuse you
My Muse

But be not deceived
I want more than anything else
To write the work
That will reach through your rib cage
And gently caress your heart bird
To write the poem you’ll want to read
Because it shows you how beautiful
You really are
Write the poem that will move you
To warm and tender tears . . .

This is my Task
This is my Desire
There is nothing i wish more

In Your Service my Gentle Muse
Chyfrin ~ Keeper of the Secret

E’ Vivatae Dóna el Riu and the Iron Captain

It is said
That on those dark days of Mox Nix
(between the season of Angels and the season of Dragons)
When the world walks
balanced on the Spine of the Solstice
On the waxing edge of the Long Night
That you can hear the bruised child-hearts
of the Strange Muses of Regwen
Crying out in the wind

It is also said
That this is the loneliest sound that a woman can hear
And it is documentable fact
That no woman may hear the muses plaintive cry
and not be. . . changed

E’ Vivatae lingers in the ‘Place of Those Lost’ where the dead are resting
The place forbidden to her
The place where they say his ashes are buried