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Blackened Elysium

Forested within the harvest pool of a wilted landscape

Tears of the spindled innocents Fall in false testaments- Distant rumble of the oncoming unknown

Moulder and ravage of a black time Ruin and loss are law

Subversive in a fatalistic blow- Playing victim to the sheepish and meek Wet, passionate kisses Laced in this poisonous rot

~by R.J. Cavender

"Her hair in between stars"...

    Lashed in black, Kisses lips splashed. Tender
snowdriven, tangles of branch.   
no fear,  
nor path.     
Penmanship graveyard,  
tip of my tounge.
When words loose their meaning,  
Life has begun.     
she speaks on a level.
clear as blue flame.
a clutch
at ghost light with bereft outstreched hand.   
Sorrows fleeting never return,
isn't it loveley
let it all burn.   
All is feeling
locked in a shell
deep in black oceans
where mer-women dwell.
quick as stitch
at sorrows last glance
turns ash white
reverse broken glass
her hair in between stars.........

                                ~For Melody from Rich

Twilight Ritual

A twisting ascension of smoke and desire strawberry incense curling... frail wrists bound, straining... rosary crucifix cuts into trembling silver flesh... stone-blind in this haze of impending liquescense sanguine sheets... pleaures sated... ashes fallen as we sink into blessed sleep



The flower grows- subsequently dries Withers, and is blown away Unobserved- All this. All this is as substantial- As our love It is gone- Completely-I'm sure, And these wounds That now seem Nestled within the womb Of Eternity Herself- Will, within time, Seem as nostalgic As the crushed petals Of the flower

~by R.J. Cavender

"My Love Lies Sleeping Still"

my love lies sleeping in same repose as our first night. He leans his chin over is wounds and shuts his eyes to dream. Decay softens the glare of his pallid flesh as frost may on a brighter winter window, though in patterns less angelic-geometric (perfect form) less regulated by the lawful heavens; more earth's ragged soil and cratered crumbling terrain darksoft like greening caves, secret and unruly This blessedly unseen freedom of mankind to rot with such unbalanced beauty graces my bridal bed stands stiffly shored against my enslaved perfect form.

~by Lara Haynes (Not Dead, but Dreaming~Lara's Gothic 'zine. Mail to and inquire about current issue and back issue rates. PO Box 442572, Lawrence, KS 66044, USA)


I feel so blue soulful color of such desperate living Blue shadows of my veins 'neath sallow skin

Blue pumps through my heart, drips easily, yet painfully through my eyes, needled b reality, scratched by the sandpaper surface of resentment Bleeding deep, moist coffin blue

~by Jenny Soup (contact Jenny at: PO Box 1168-584, Studio Cty, CA 91604, USA. Ask about her poetry book "Sorrows Velvet Garden".)

a millennial...

a son, clothed in his mother's winter cold, warmed his fingers against my late spring flesh.

However flowers do bloom in the thrust of winds so cold, I am amazed. A hole in the sky fills with fire and angels A sun

a final rising phoenix fom the dead hearth ash, a blazing breast against the tears of a sorrowful child:

his frosted hands numbly down upon merely me, a girl

a woman clothed with the sun.

~by Lara Haynes


I long to freeze, again In the blackened room Stiffening in fear I feed the presence Of the seated figure, On the edge of my bed.

This night shall not be so lucky Only nothing- Not now, or ever again Shall you return To give me some silent message of love- Or doom.

Swiftly, my love To return- And on your returning, Divulge your sweet mission- On my welcome, Anticipated- Intrusion of my nocturnal hours.

~by R.J. Cavender

A Victorian Echo

Contents of a mouldering trunk scattered on the attic's chill floorboards~dessicated petals crunching dryly under my bare toes~satin hair ribbons and glass buttons~yellowed lace handkercheif enfolding delicate bands of gold~faded amber portraits, Baroque scrollwork surrounding innocent faces of long-dead dreamers....


Ice Garden

Citadel of spider trees and crumbing stones... leaves shiver falling, alighting on fresh silver frost... penumbras danse at dusk to the sound of fairie lace falling... spirits of smoke and ash and the lingering dust of earthly desires... the book is open, beckoning, a tale of nothingness on scarlet veined marble... hands folded in prayer... head bowed, wings severed from the stone angel's body... shrines faded chalky remains streaked and dripping towards their owners' narrow houses... Asylum for sad children exchanging wet red kisses by moonlight... ice garden paradise of this world's shadows....