‘Vindicare’ & ‘Tempestas’ & ‘Inquisitio’



Here, there are unspoken truths. A red tongue that does not speak. Circuitry has replaced your face with one that hums metallic, speaks in a lost voice. I follow my feet. They seem to know where to go, what to do, even if I don’t.

I used to sing to you, but now am a prisoner of your mind, set to listen to you as you remind us of the times we once had together on these streets, in this apartment, on this veranda overlooking the bay. I do not want to be reminded that you are gone. Memory settles in me like stones. I feel the weight propelling me forward. Then the faint snicker of a blade, and the remembrance of your real eyes.





She is destruction. Blazing hair, storm cloud eyes. She is the roiling thunder crack in the dead of morning, noise that stirs the city back to life, out of hungover dreams. When she has gone again, a being like electricity in motion, you can see the destruction she wreaks just on the horizon. The punch flash of lightning fire. We say a silent prayer for her victims, then close the blinds.





When you stir yourself out of bed, they are waiting. Pinpricks dance lazily down your back, the mountain air cool and stark and terrible. You made the pilgrimage here, declared fealty to the one chosen by the highest powers, but all you see is a woman making mistakes and bleeding for them. Do Gods bleed? This one does, you think, sticking the blade in one last time.