Spell #419

stevie redI finally sat down by the river,
Flattened by illusions and latex.
My blood remembers peace.

Prayers, promises and pillows
Hold me as we skip off into the distance.
Pleased, we giggle ourselves to sleep.

What remains is simple.
What is lost is nothing.
What is healed overwhelms.

Spell #51

horseI approached the side of the road slowly.
There it was: a man dead from turning into a horse.
Now, I had heard of such things, but this quickened my breath.

The man’s head was now the horse’s belly,
And his lower body was all there,
Arms, torso and legs, crumpled in a heap on the ground, bare.
I wondered at first why he was naked but then it made sense:
He couldn’t morph into a horse with pants on.

The smell of the man and the horse cut my nose.
Morphing stinks.