rain patters on tin
I made my choicesearching the shelvesthe serpents rejoicedI made my choicethe black spine whispered with his voice“know thyself”I made my choicesearching the shelves
A quick response to an old writing prompt from Go Dog Go Cafe.
footsteps are muffled
I may not bathe in the blood of virgins like Countess Báthory
they came cold and pale
exhaustinghow somemen will keepplanting seeds where grasswas not meant to growever
now fully nightfallthick fog swirled over the citydropping heavy rain transforming it toa world of umbrellas ….. The great thing about found poems is that they can really help you out of a writing rut. I write this one by shaping a paragraph from an Edgar Allan Poe short story into a tanka poem .
the book wasmore unassumingthen expectedplain coverorderly chapters follow howeveramong the pagesI smell thepungent scent of blood andfeel the scape of fangs on my neckmy own teeth sharpenskin grows palehands ice coldwooden stakes scraped sharp, suddenlythe book slams shut