pause of morning,

liminal space,

before dread

tinges

edges

corners

crawling slowly,

as you turn about,

specters felt,

yet unseen,

drawing a curtain

back

bathing your

old throne

in clarity,

this glow you

can sit in

twisting together

hairs you find

that are too long

to be yours,

holding them up

to the

sun,

as cicadas trade

ancient songs

written

for us,

so as we yearn

so as they shriek,

their calls

lifting

buzzing

swollen

with eons

of affection,

as morning light

wanes

they must rest

their honeyed

voices

by pools that

we’ve known

but,

never see until

time

mocks us

reaching out

from the

edges

corners,

their font is one

we drink from

readily

greedily,

crepuscular waves

inviting

showing

telling

an eventual

loss

that slips through

swollen fingers

and

years

decades

centuries

later,

in moonlight

the droplets

splatter like

blood

--

--

Daniel Lazarus

Poetry, short fiction, with some TV/Film/Gaming reviews. I hate how this site limits formatting but w/e I’m here