for the Hyaena queen

Hyaenadon, mighty striped beast, killer in the night. In sheer spectacle, I gaze upon your lovely black hide, your striped back, your keen visage. You are a poetry of fang and sinew, tooth and madness. Lovely, your tail lashes back and forth, your hot breath at my neck, your tongue wresting forth from your mouth, agape and smelling of blood. Queen, empress, your savage penis entering me.

The Thirteen Words of Khaza Sool

A sultry night hung over the black forests of planet Moog. Deep within it, a million million creatures slept, and a million million more crept through its lush shadows or set aloft into its moonlit skies. All four moons were visible tonight, trailing each other in an irregular line across the heavens. Beyond them, the stars of the spinward marches, realm of the Imperium. Tonight, a warm breeze welled up from the valleys, bringing with it the smell of Kaur beast, and of the manlords that hunted them. Also drifting up the music was the sweet music of the lowland barbarians, proud and dangerous. Kyrie, princess of Nomia, leaned against the balustrade, her black hair blowing in the gentle wind. Her brown eyes sparkled like twin diamonds, her blue skin a ghostly white under the light of the four moons. It was a beautiful face, with high cheekbones and a cruel red mouth, caught perpetually in the act of half-smiling. To the stars of her ancestors, she pointed, one after the other, until all seven suns had been located. Her hand fell through her hair and down her subtle blue cleavage. Black, bejeweled, and polished, her ten nails slid under her spidersilk dress, brushing gently over a soft black nipple as they fell, further, to her hip in a gesture of impatience. She was filled with a hunger she could not possibly sate. There could not possibly be enough love in this palace to fill the need within her. Still, she would not give up the game. Strutting back into her gallery, the space princess called to her manservant for a glass of wine.

Chalybion californicum speaks

I am a lovely, silvery blue, my finish like chrome. Please don't hold it against me, spider, that I must lay this egg on you. You are paralyzed because I injected venom into your brain, and destroyed your ability to anything about the horrible things that are soon to happen to you. This is how I make more copies of my kind. For that reason, my beautiful child will hatch and devour your, slowly at first, drinking the fluid from seeping wounds, until eventually she will end your life and eat those parts of you that she cannot devour without doing so. You will feel every minute germ of the pain. I have not dulled your agony, but I have taken the liberty of stuffing you into a deep hole with no possible chance of escape. There, you will wait with three other captives, who impotently fear for their own destruction. They will be devoured next. There is nothing that can be done about any of this. Wasps must exist to destroy spiders the way spiders must exist to destroy moths and there is no grand purpose to any of it. None at all. Eventually, my child will consume all of you, even those spindly legs of yours, spin a cocoon, and in her time, destroy other members of your species. I destroy and destroy again. This is who I am and I am lovely for it.

the square root of negative one finally speaks

face it, i am the only solution to your equation. you dismiss me because i am not real, and it is true, every damned word of it and more, i am imaginary. i am i. look for solutions to the situation you face, and deny it as you may, there is only one solution to your quadratic. it is akin to the solution Kepler faced when he stared, long and hard, at the circles of Copernicus. they did not fit the observations because the solar system is not made of perfect circles. there is no hand of god because there is no god and therefore planets orbit in ellipses. an extension of this is that negative one has a square root and it is me, here i am. maybe it is because you include so many negative values, or maybe it is because you are made of radians in a Cartesian world. I think the latter, rather than the former. i should know. i am the square root of negative one. in some circles it is said that i should not possibly exist, and yet, here i am. in the hands of a true mathematician, i can sing.

A Reverse Valentine

I think I am finally free of the blood bond with you, but then again, I think that may be self delusion. It felt painful to cut it, with that rusty laboratory knife, but then again, i can see why it had to be done. I hated you for the first incision. I did not want to sever my ties with your, my twin, my blood demon. I wanted you with me forever. It hurt. Finally, there was something missing every moment of every day. A purpose for doing things, it was gone. It was as if a light was extinguished and suddenly, i could see an empty world that had been so invisible for so long. Space harpy, you know so much about me. I am nothing but stronger now, and you are feathered with such colorful ribbons that did not exist before. Somewhere, I hear, there are sea slugs infected with photosynthetic algae, orchids that grow on corpses, and flesh that lives under the skin that casts off its former obligations with the matter that gave rise to it. I hear there are galaxies that cannibalize each other. This is lovely, but in the end, each system must procreate on its kind and the Darwinian struggle continues. Parasite, host, mutualist, symbiont, slave, lover, tool, companion, zygote, zygote, zygote, zygote.

to athena

i can stare into your grey eyes all day long, athena, and see storms pass, and sun too. things are not what you think they are, and in every significant way, they are better. it is no contradiction that you are beautiful and funny simultaneously, that your stories get better as you grow old, and that the glass of wine you are drinking now sits astride a million million universes, some of them with similar glasses of wine, some with nothing but echoes. you have lived through so many things, seen so many things, and fought so many battles worth fighting, against adversaries more powerful than yourself, and not been beaten. how many times have you taught Perseus to use the mirror against Medusa, or doomed poor Hector for his folly? like Odin, i have plucked out my good eye, and with it, i can see storms of my own, and sun too. we weather them together, my love, like two planets locked in orbit, storm and moon and sun and tide.

carbon

To say that i am grateful not to be spending this particular year decomposing underground is a tremendous understatement. I am elated, because even the worst of days have air and sunlight, in such wasteful abundance that clouds sing and mist abounds. There is snow cover, and seasonality, and the inevitability of spring, and whatever happens, it will not come again. None of it. I wish i could spend a day seeing through your eyes, love, be you four or twenty four or forty four. I would like to experience your joys and feel your frustrations. We are so alone in our minds, each of us, and yet we send out tendrils of experience through stories. If we are lucky, our stories will last a little longer than we do, and fade only after the passing of centuries. The moments fall like leaves, and the stories get more numerous. Lakes melt. Seasons change. Carbon cycles.