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The land of the fey -

Lays bare black, broken bones.

Tumultuous passions released,

The faerie scent - never fades.


The land of the fey -

An avalanche of emotion and glimmering skin,

Dreams and harrowing visions,

Breaking the bonds of my physical, muscular kin.


Whereupon I lie down

And freeze buried beneath the mountain,

Glacial hatred seeps and spreads in filament

Hardening, crackling and gossamer thin.


The land of the fey –

Grants touch, is a force unspent.

Of course, the modern, the scientific, the platitude and the reason

Lacks praxis and understanding.


I belong here

With a hangman’s noose and black, broken bones

Rotting, creeping, cracking

Beneath the bare caress of presumptuous hands.





Never pipes in the ears of my grim sentinels.


Intangible, the land of the fey.


It cannot touch their senses.

They have no silence.

No guidance. No struggle.

As I grow to swollen rage.


The land of the fey –

Is stronger; its pull a fine spider’s line.

This garden breathes deeper, undulates tame comparisons

As the navigator is impaled on the broken horn.


The unicorn treads on... free

I am lost

Always lost

Because the land of the fey -


Shows me things others can’t.

They won’t.

Because a smile buys

And an eye of glass melts before it hardens or reflects.


Until death, my land of the fey –

I belong and always have.

Visions of the life that came before – it never was.

I am the fey – I am and I am lost.


Caught dying and I do – not – care.

I simply breathe.

And this has always been.

See my black, broken bones.


Revealed by the land of the fey.

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