the only certain thing about
a card game with death is
that you’re going to lose.
see, the red hearts are bleeding
out onto your hands as the cards whisper
and shake across the table.
and it’s impossible to stop because it’s the sharp
edges of the diamonds against your skin
causing it but you need them in your hand.
you find clubs blooming in the dark violet under
your eyes and you can no longer remember
which game you are playing.
you’ll bet everything to try and win
throw it all away, away, away,
because have you ever been so alive?
death passes you a spade and you know
that everyone digs their own graves
but they taught you how.

Ghost story

November 15, 2017

a cloud reaching

Everyone has a ghost story. It might be a schoolyard tale whispered under the slide, or that time your dog howled before you found out your grandmother died. It might not even be your story, but an urban myth that made you scared to drive down the lane, walk past that house, or look in the mirror in candlelight. The point is, we all have stories that have crawled into the deepest parts of us and never let go. If you’re very lucky, this happens when you’re young, before you’ve thrown up your defenses of cynicism and doubt.

Deborah Stanish
Everyone has a ghost story

the riot in your heart

November 15, 2017

Bring me your suffering
The rattle roar of broken bones.
Bring me the riot in your heart.
Angry, wild and raw.
Bring it all.
I am not afraid of the dark.

Mia Hollow

carry away the dead

November 15, 2017

…the dead come from the sea, at night. They merely arrive and are discovered in the morning on the wharves, lying in great heaps. It has been the immemorial custom for people to take them into their homes, to find places for them, to pattern their increasingly cluttered lives around the growing accumulation of corpses. No one knows why, although it is the irresistible decree of the Unseen Government that the order of things must be preserved, at all costs. Old and young must participate, and carry away the dead, on bicycles, in carts, on their backs if need be. It has always been so. It always will be so. This isn’t Hell, or an Afterlife, just a place, a fog-shrouded, tradition-stifled town without a name, where the dead are accommodated at the expense of the living, where the established way of life has become a grotesque absurdity, and a few brave or foolish or deviant souls struggle to find some meaning, and perhaps unravel the mystery of the dead…

Darrell Schweitzer
Living With The Dead (The Tale Of Old Corpsenberg)