nights lengthen
the shadows thick and tangible
possess now those who owned them
some vitality ascends
pulp of squash and pumpkin
arrows of geese piercing ponds
covered with scum
hope may our alliances strengthen
and lengthen too
otherwise we are
doomed
#katyamills
our energy burning hot
guarded close to the heart
we talked until our tears
dried. the monsters by candlelight
walking the walls pushed
round by the wind
in a hopeless place we
made a pact sincere and fought
like hell #katyamills
cat out mousing
to sharpen his claws i
stuck inside dredging
the twitter feed like some
weary curator
in a third rate watered
down shop of intrigue
and horror
#katyamills
 |
| from King’s ‘The Dead Zone |
what saved me, this time, was drawing the Dead Zone, the paperback, up to my face, my nose tucked in towards the spine, and closing my eyes and inhaling deeply the scent of the pulp, which transported me body and soul into a lovely forest, some forgotten place and time, from which this pulp was hewn.
ps
Here is a reading from my book Maze 2:15:4 if you’re interested…
This post showcases my underlying feelings about being a child in America in the twenty-first century, which is equal parts horrifying and exhilarating… http://www.katyamills.com/2015/08/the-child.html
Cold. Blue dawn.
The velveteen rabbit was hobbling up the road with one button eye just a hangin’ from a thrice restitched socket, his nerves just a hangin’ by a thread. He looked back every time he heard a sound. The two lane highway was just ahead. He was dragging a broken leg behind him, and his cotton tail was blackened by mud. He had dropped himself off the side of the bed, after hours wrenching himself out from the little girl’s grip. He had dreamed only of this moment in time, for many years now. With what stuffing he had left for brains. There were gashes and cuts where the dogs and cats had bit and clawed him. Even the wretched maid who always put on an careless face when left alone to do her dirty work, had been known to throw his entirety into the washing and drying machines. With bleach! Dear God!
Yet none of the abuse he suffered by those to whom his life was tangential, could ever compare to the heartless depth of the one who loved him! His child companion. She loved him past living, and his experience was a perpetual dissociation to the heights of the ceiling (where her thick little pudgy arms could not reach him), looking down. Watching his limp carcass get dragged around and squeezed violently. Covered by her great human weight, every time she rolled over in her sleep. Oh hell on earth!
His fur rubbed down to the quick.
He reached the highway and held out a broken thumb. Someone in a mid-twentieth century Volvo slowed down then pulled to the side to pick him up. Sweet freedom! With all his might he pulled himself together, and hopped on up and into the car.
No sooner had he got up onto the back seat leather, when a young boy, about the same age as his child companion, only maybe a little younger and more full of reckless abandon, grabbed him about the neck in terrifying fashion, and reached over him to shut the door closed. Then peered closely at him. Fingered his shivering velveteen residual. The car pulled back onto the highway, and the boy then began to show immediate disinterest, and lovingly flicked away at his single button eye.
She lay in a bath of her blood
in her black blood-soaked dresses
against the shiny white
porcelain walls of the tub
her slit wrists turned in on her thighs
on her tights
her eyes open wide
to the light and the air
telling of darkest
despair
The day, suffocated by clouds. I slept into a steady rain, clawing at the glass. I would open the door for no one.
No one could rest for long. Nor could I. They wanted my life, behind terrible smiles. Eyes, watching the breath in my chest.
Only my graveyard obligations would get me, far, far from home. I wore black, to blend in the night. Carried the iron cast lantern.
I walked with purpose, concealing my fear behind silver buttons. My life. Steeled to the ritual task.
K IS SILENT 