I.

The hands that hold me, hold nothing at all.

The hands that conceived me, are empty,

Empty shells of a forgotten past, only delivered

With a single black envelope; Coal-black paper,

Glossy finish, no glue, plain design, faded

Pages of an old novel, strewn about on endless

Frontiers; It's all lost and found again, again.

II.

A window shattered but it didn't phase me,

Chasing the moon as I ran the streets,

Pools of stardust flickering amongst the wires,

Slicing the midnight into navy chunks,

Illuminated by the light of a hidden sun;

Dousing the flames and etching the calm

Seamlessly into the mind, darkness and black.

III.

An empty fish bowl sits upon the dresser,

Glass eyes of an invisible fish boring holes

Into my jacket, the edges singeing like

Magnifying glasses channeling the sunlight,

Flames, biting, biting, burning to cinders,

A pile of papers seated beside the enclosure,

Sinking into oblivion, raw pages, ink blots.

IV.

It sings through the air, cutting lines, silver,

Everywhere, weaving hands beat a sound

Of an endless song of death, blank, darkness

Seeps into the gleaming virgin lengths of white,

Pearls upon pearls, chestnut chests empty,

Now for the empires that long for riches gone,

The messenger lost to the enemy, blood spills.

V.

Wrinkled stamps and worn envelopes,

Whispers of stories untold and silent,

Travels to distant lands, strange lands,

Lands of moss and swamps and teeth,

Rattling teeth, pointed teeth, bloodied

Teeth, rasping calls in the midst of a

Dark forest, winged claws and beaks.

VI.

Everything possible, imaginable, may

Or may not fit inside of a black envelope,

Mysterious contents, tendrils of blue smoke,

Curling from the lips of the pages, smudges

Of ink, blue, black, red ink; memories in

Text, frozen in time, sinking into the well,

Darkness awaits and nothing rests on the edge.