the eye mote

The Eye-Mote

Blameless as daylight I stood looking
At a field of horses, necks bent, manes blown,
Tails streaming against the green
Backdrop of sycamores. Sun was striking
White chapel pinnacles over the roofs,
Holding the horses, the clouds, the leaves

Steadily rooted though they were all flowing
Away to the left like reeds in a sea
When the splinter flew in and stuck my eye,
Needling it dark. Then I was seeing
A melding of shapes in a hot rain:
Horses warped on the altering green,

Outlandish as double-humped camels or unicorns,
Grazing at the margins of a bad monochrome,
Beasts of oasis, a better time.
Abrading my lid, the small grain burns:
Red cinder around which I myself,
Horses, planets and spires revolve.

Neither tears nor the easing flush
Of eyebaths can unseat the speck:
It sticks, and it has stuck a week.
I wear the present itch for flesh,
Blind to what will be and what was.
I dream that I am Oedipus.

What I want back is what I was
Before the bed, before the knife,
Before the brooch-pin and the salve
Fixed me in this parenthesis;
Horses fluent in the wind,
A place, a time gone out of mind.

– Sylvia Plath

Dust

i’m nothing
if not one to seek out the sun
but what sin must stain a man
that he can no longer close his eyes

the motes dance in her beams and fill my lungs

we have three inches in the gauge
and i’m still not clean
three inches
and the dust whirls in spite
don’t let this rain get you down baby girl
it’ll make for easy diggin’ when i’m gone


4-12-16

Anesthetic

For the Drabble Games. As prompted by whitnialis

Thorin x Reader : “I almost lost you.” and “Don’t you ever do that again!”

Warnings: Injury. 

Word count: 597



Carelessness does not go without consequence. Though, you could hardly call it carelessness if it is caring to drive you forward in the first place. Perhaps, then, it is caring that bears the heaviest burden.

You remember spotting Azog, the intention to dispatch him running through your veins already when you noticed exactly with whom he was locked in battle. A fierce desire to protect Thorin then raged in your chest, spurring you on as you launched yourself between them, swinging your sword through the air at the heinous fiend. You only managed a few superficial wounds before you took Azog’s blade to your shoulder.

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3. To Become: Claws

Frustrating. There was no other word for it. He’d hover in front of her. He’d wave his arms wildly. He’d set the room on fire. Nothing fazed her.

It wasn’t Mabel’s fault.

It was Dipper’s fault. For being stuck on an entirely different plane of existence.

Following her was virtually pointless. Watching over her did no good. It didn’t fix the despair and loneliness that seemed permanently etched on her face. It didn’t do any good to read her aura with his third eye and see the motes of pruce swirl about her long, now shaggy, brown hair. It didn’t make him feel right. He had found Mabel, but raw human emotions wrecked him.

They were overpowering.

Eating made him feel better. The occasional minor demon he encountered. The rare summoner looking for Cipher that he dealt with. There was no keeping track of them anymore. Now it seemed the sparks and fire flowed endlessly. He didn’t have trouble with wearing thin anymore. His appetite grew to match his meals.

Now the question remained: how could he get Mabel’s attention?

Dipper mulled over the question as he prowled through the mindscape, somewhere in the northern tundra of Canada. The world was frozen over. His presence elicited steam along his path.

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