SuperNova Afterglow Spews Embers of Time

T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚


Waiting On A Messenger (that may already be dead)

She said to meet her here.
Did the dogs eat her?

Blood and entrails soak
A filth strewn park spot

Do ducks gobble her remains
Floating atop waters’ murk?

Does dappled sun light break
These tears mergence with surface?

Murderers in the woods, cowards
Whose deceit may approach as false

Whispered words disembodied
Cowering in greed darkness court?

Surely too ugly to be acknowledged
Must be lepers hidden and foul?

She was to meet me here?
The float birds have their fill

The sun even shades now in trees
No longer wishes to greet my face

Not a sound in free space, noted
Unless I missed the entrance gate?

The stench grows by the hour
Where is my divine bird, I ponder

It’s getting late, sin soaks sublime
The juice offer I’d refuse drink

I can savor these words true?
With one known to share belief?

If she is not returning, surely
Yellow tape need guard our scene

Vultures gathering everywhere, seen
And the pond is duck shit

No one is coming to save me
But eyes I require keep, dimmer

If she’ll meet, greet, or not —
Return to review scenes of crime

I’ll lone witness as the sun
struggles to surface, drowning

In this night, I remain unchanged
Until her truth I can counsel.


6.30.25
Quick write, edit

Waiting on the islander.