Fibs Make Horrible Holiday Gifts

December 15, 2013
Eeriesoil, New York

Mother,

Fibs make horrible holiday gifts. Lying tongues shrivel the heart, dull the bite. Is that a raisin, caged between your ribs and the slug that used to be your spine? Blood deserves truth—I give you my refusal to feign fright at the sight of garlic crosses… just to fit your acquaintances’ myth of bliss.

Yours in blood,
Drusilla Amarantha Tepes, the Only

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the wee notes…
– I don’t think you need to know the speaker’s story, or the details of her relationship with the subject, to appreciate this bit of prose poetry. But if you wish to know more about her, visit my Web Serials page, and check out, Drusilla; or, Camp Cute, Creepy and (quite conveniently) Remote.
– for Hedgewitch’s Friday 55 and the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

Realities We Make

“I’ve stolen dreamed words
out of Borges’ mouth
and written us on my skin.

In the book of us,
your words are drummed to song
I dance into ink and feels.” ~ MG

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I want our wildest
words to be of you and me.
Let’s be ink and feels
only for us, write a room
of realities we make.

I’ll spell an ink-world with you, I replied to him, the letters dark and honest over my heart. Write me yours and I’ll write you mine.

And we wrote…

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the wee notes…
– Beginnings often start at the end. So, yes, this is the last of Ink and Feels (for now). What happens after this, the details of how they live and love in ink, will be part of a poetry chapter book. If you’ve missed some of the poems, visit my Web Serials page.
– The 2 stanzas quoted at the beginning are part of the poem that inspired the series.
– Written for Hedgewitch’s Friday 55, and linked to the Garden.