Principia Noctis

Into the gloom,
Into the gloom,
Make room for me
In the purpling blue-black
Gloom.

Goblin haunt and ghost swath,
The moon’s house full
Of hoary hosts
With silver beards dangling
Over us like stellar moss,
Angling in all that
Purpling blue-black gloom
To catch and weave us
Into their starry loom.

Into the gloom,
Into the gloom,
Make room for me,
Old night’s got no bite worse
Than curse of glaring sun.

Indeed, night’s many-eyed arachnid visage
Is a goose-fleshing benediction
After the cyclopean passage of Sol’s
Gigantic red-eyed malediction.
(So say we people of the hot sun-lands
With apologies to you of the steep and stark,
Cold and dark highlands.)

Into the gloom,
Into the gloom,
Make room for me
In the purpling black-winged
Gloom.

Fold me into its shaded shapes,
Limitless and lost until dawn,
Peopled with whatever it is peopled,
The night brood,
My true breed.

(photo by Flannery O’Kafka)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s