The Tunnel

SPREEPARK by Jan Van de Ven


Nobody can see,
there’s no one to stop you.
Throw caution to the wind and buy a ticket
even though its one way only
the tunnel beckons and the music drops the rhythms like breadcrumbs
and you follow
shivering deliciously at the dark
“keep your arms and head inside the train at all times.”
“keep your head…”
and the night suddenly erupts in color and the scents of cotton candy and frying dough
and blood, sweat and 
The mirrors only reflect outwards in here and you’re suddenly glad you came 
because you’re not in Kansas anymore
you’re in a place that’s not possible
not real
well, you never belonged in the real anyway…
because the specters that walked through your nightmares
stopped and told you
told you 
and you listened
wrapped in the comfort of the dark
while in the daylight chattering hurt your head and made you dizzy
like needles in your eyes and ears
and those that dwell in the sun called you slow
and dumb
but some roses only open in the dusk
will only share their fragrance with the denizens of midnight
the tribes of the moon
and you are fully in their shade now
as the train speeds up and the borders are melting
and the nightmares ride hellbent to meet you
and you know you have finally come
*photography by Jan Van de Ven “Spreepark”*
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The Wonder Bus

Like a fork dragged across a china plate
her voice cuts through 
creating a wavelike wince along the aisle
my neck turtles in and I ignore her loudly
turning to stare out the window as if a new territory was unfolding
instead of the same street 
same route 
as the day before and before
I wear my isolation like a large black jewel
a thing of sparkle without light
and wonder if I am the only one so uncomfortable… 
and wonder why I am?
and wonder why she isn’t?
I guess bus rides make me ponder odd things
with blank space to fill strange thoughts rise up
 like discarded rattles thrown on a floor for attention.`
and I wonder if I am the only one who has these questions?
and wonder why I do?
and wonder why you don’t?


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I am hiding in a closet
in a dark too big to get through
sitting on a nest of crossed out love poems
 and sweaters
and books with broken spines
the only sound is the hangers ting 
and the secret slide of moth wings against the wall
and I let them nibble holes in me
until I am light enough
to find a way out
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Use Well The Day

Use well the day
the long and short of it
the dark and light 
and all that’s wedged squeaking in the in between
even the parts under the furniture where nobody sweeps
use well what time has handed you
a present 
a letter 
a map
a faded photograph
a match
use well the power 
your power
your force
stride through the room all Annie Lennox-y
like you own it
like you own yourself
because you do….
and let them watch you in dismay
in disdain
in longing fawning 
in admiration
and store that up 
bottle and cork it carefully
to use well
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Le Theatre Du Grotesque

Originally posted on Chimera Poetry:


With our eyes safely lidded and every neck bent 
a collective sigh drizzles along the crowds edge as you,
 the Queen of Le Theatre Du Grotesque,
surging in on an up swell of terrorsweat and adoration
your followers in a cluster of sycophantic clucking 
scurry behind
Flaunt, swirl your cloak and smooth your gloves
to allow those grandiose gesticulations
You use your lorgnette in the wide arm blessings like a conductor and his baton
tied with ribbon and bits of mirror
a crazy house reflection of the gilt and glimmer and the spiderwebs decked in their finest silk
The murmur rises as you part the red velvet curtains hanging dustily in all their malicious opulence
and regally take your place in the box 
a window shop for the eyes slyly tracking movements
storing greedy grasping details with a flick of a paintbrushed eyebrow 
An incense of burning books and…

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Your essence is DELICIOUS.

Originally posted on The Bloggess:

Conversation at an estate sale filled with extremely questionable things:

Me:  I’m pretty sure I need this doll.

It's like "Eyes Without a Face," except just the opposite.

It’s like that song “Eyes Without a Face,” except just the opposite.

Victor:  Nope.  Nope.  Nope.  All of my nopes.

me:  Sir, how much is the doll with no eyeballs?

Estate sale guy: It’s $75.

me: Seems pricey.  But, hang on…does that include all the human souls trapped inside it? Because that might actually be a good value.

Estate sale guy:   It comes with an extra set of doll clothes.

Victor: Does it also come with an exorcism?

Guy:  It’s real old.  They don’t make ‘em like that anymore.

Victor: Well, thank God for that.

Victor said I couldn’t bring her home even though I tried to show him how lovely she was:

"Give us a cuddle.  And some blood."

“Give us a cuddle. And some blood.”

Then Victor made me put her down, but when I went in the…

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Review of “Beyond the Realm of Night”, by Jane Dougherty

Originally posted on Kitty Muse and Me:

Jane Dougherty Book3

The armies have amassed. The heroes of memory have joined the battle against Abaddon and his demons, both fighting for possession of Providence. It would seem obvious which way the citizens would sway, once the gates were opened. After all, they’d seen the menace, witnessed the evil.

But the leader of their salvation is…a mere girl? A female?

The lessons of the “Wise God” run deep and strong, and the idea of a simple “swoop-and-save” becomes irrelevant in the face of obstinacy.

This is not, however, the biggest obstacle Deborah faces. The hardest lessons to learn, and the biggest evils to conquer, originate within herself.

Jealousy, bitterness, fear of failure–these must be conquered before Deborah can lead her army to victory.

Abaddon knows this–and exploits it as much as he can…

I have been waiting to get  my hands on this book ever since reading “The Subtle Fiend”, the…

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