bring your iron sides to bear
myth incarnate – break the shields
stand the stones.


“High and Low”

reed-loved wrists
host twisting hands,
shaded in twitches.

point the teeth,
mawing too and fro.

mutter hyphenated
godly names, where
kingdoms had collided.

“Straight Lines”

they wrote like that so that you could carve.
paper is a smart thing, people get delicate
with curves and serifs and flicks, all joined
and pretty on the page – concern, for them,
was clarity and carving, taking broken branches
and burning life and meaning back into them
with straight lines, each rune a story
a spell, and a fortune: each individual
meant something alone, but together
they ran along the threads of the world
and cackled at the death of Gods and men
and fates and women, they danced
in the halls and hands of the Norns.

“Myself to Myself”

I sacrifice myself to myself
dedicate this falling blood,
filling wooden grooves,
to all I may or may not be.
Nine nights, moons, years,
any of these i’ll bleed
and burn for, if only
change will claim me
by the end of all things.