Give me your hands,

and I will speak to you

through the dead.

I will use their voices

and their memories.

Sit still and be quiet.

They will enter your bodies

and fill you with thoughts.

Thoughts of revenge

and plans for murder.

Enjoy the game.

The Dead love their games.


Suburban witch





The new spring blooms colors.

But who even bothers

to breathe the sweet air?

I don’t have a care.

My car fails to start,

a walk in the park.

I raise my small hand.

Gone is the quicksand.

I race down the hill,

a heavenly thrill.

Shocked faces turn to me.

Only houses I see.