Among All the Bloody Things
by Knight Quinn
Art: “Casper” by Nick Grey nickgrey.com
Kukri moon slung low.
moon. Tired. Strong. Aching
moon through atmosphere at sharp angles,
resizing herself: candlelight through a keyhole.
Wanting song. Wanting dance. Wanting slow, deliberate steps
and flowing fabric. Suffering no other light.
Hungering for deep, still waters.
Raging at the surf.
Forgetting she is the cause.
Tonight, she hates all cities, their planes and their towers.
She cannot bathe in her own light.
Among all the lonely and wild and bloody things,
she cannot bathe in her own light:
I am not your hunter’s bow. Nor your maiden; not your pregnant or waxing divine.
I am not the horns of your god. The sun does not pursue
me. I am not your scimitar when you have no mirror for
me. Then get out. Let
me disappear beyond this horizon. Let
me find curvature. Let
me see a waning earth.