Plural of Codex

sitting-room-library“The vampires are coming!  These are their weaknesses!” says the librarian, brandishing codices.  Demons are trapped in books and battles demolish the light-filled library.  But fear not, the heroine will save the day (and her boyfriend).  That was my silly youth.  (The good guys read.  The bad guys smoke).  Did the schoolgirl with the weapons see the stars realign one night just for her?  Was she pleased?  Yes and no.  She struggled.  Destiny snatches its devotees, or perhaps certain natures bind irrevocably to certain callings.  I want—to be in harmony with what I do—taste my soul between my teeth.

Is there war between good and evil?  Creatures burnt by the sun?  (For Hugo, light was a moral voice, knowledge led to goodness).  Among the stacks, I do not know, I am ravenous as a ghoul.  But I want—to be in harmony with what I do—taste my soul between my teeth.  Find me in church when the call comes, when the trumpet sounds, wearing sun-proof black leather.  The tithe seized and the tithe freely given, I am—a librarian.


Picture I carry (of you)

boy on beast I wanted to send you carnations

from the White House.

Imagine your flurry

and consternation!

Surely a mistake! Addressed to me?

Which House?  Not that House?

But I was afraid.

We are casual only

in fantasy and laugh

only in photographs

kept in boxes

stored in closets.

All men are siblings

so I hear.

I am a sibling

or I was.  I think I was



via Daily Prompt: Carry

Nothing much glory

girl on beast To belong to you

is terrible


determine to seize

the grey head of pain

and promise sweet future


To feed the lion cub

and calculate

in red murk

like a pet owner with a spear.

Can I tame?

Perhaps.  I could

given sufficient years, embrace

that sweet future promise

of being devoured by a lion.

I dream of it.

Filament break exposed reach

light bulbAre you reading that book or are you memorizing it?  What does your education matter?  With your foreign face, even dogs bark at how alien you are.  The way you dress, you look like a homeless, you look like a bumpkin, who would suspect you of erudition?  They ask, “Do you speak English?”  Lesson plans, teaching?  Don’t make me laugh.  Embrace that book, take it with you—hide, hide, recluse!  Only losers bring their work home!  Midget, I see you can’t reach that bad bulb.  Use the ladder, that’s what we bought it for.  By heaven, I don’t know how you got where you are.  In one tiny area, you have expertise.  In all others, you are a numbskull.  I ask you to caulk the bathtub, you cut yourself.  Unclog the sink and you knock your skull.  IQ of a retard!  Innocence of a child!  I know what you are, I have your measure.  You have perseverance and nothing else!

via Daily Prompt: Reach

You, endless

two shadow puppetsI am a beast, born of the accuser, in love with the finest star.  That one that provides direction, bless me, for I left the barn burning, I cannot follow the sliding path, the stained and easy past.  No, it follows me—like a harpy, senseless and vengeful, bashing holes in weak walls.  Guide me, from the template enraged even in its sleep—that rises behind me to crash against serenity—and boredom.  You remind me, beautiful, that joy and misery are shared, and what is bad for one is bad for all, but tell me, how does one not recoil from the hateful?  When shame incites from bad to worse, mirrors are broken and shards inserted in people’s eyes.  Remind me, sweetheart, that sight is not needed to desire Brahman, and truth is a sense of direction.  I scatter my grieving pieces through and through, and ask for transformation—for me, and the beasts who came before.