tuck-in # 1,667 (approximate)

Lovely miniature neighbourhood of night,
just assembled from some titan’s toybox,
lamplit and shrouded in clouds,
tucked snugly in gloom.
Parked cars on sleepy streets,
trees still as stones, driveways tightlipped.
Nodding houses, interior lights winking.
‘Good night, Night!’ she says
from her upstairs open window.
She falls asleep curled into it all,
a ball of love and burning dreams.
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(sketching) The Dark Doxastic

Bring your
black wings
down on this
lamp-lit
city block,

brood
and
hover
and
strike
right here,

snuff
the street lights
in lovely
holy
gloom-fire,
glory-smoke,

dark doxa,
dusky kavod.

Bless
with
lampblack
pinions

all
your
dim
dominions,

and give us
inkblot
sight

to see
you
in the night.

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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)