The dark book

In the dark book
a cornfield, flat like a fence
but plump in cartoon nighttime
we cruise past on slow bicycles
having been in that forest
a long time, long enough
to dress and undress and redress
will there be a pool or a pond
what shoes shall we wear
or shall we go shoeless
to our borrowed casket,
two guests and then too many
it’s a vast lake
black water, cold, black trees
a broad empty plaza
trash skitters off to the side
low horns, banging cans
a warren of dusty rooms
shadow, grit, somebody
something is coming
the outside watches you
nowhere but in.



For those little ones of despair
for whom a revelation will not come,
tell them no word has ever come to us
or to the ones before. 
Damp from clinging air,
there’s nothing to be done for them
when rain is always just rain,
and it is always falling.


Stella Ridley: links to all chapters

3 my skies mississippi poss head pix (3)

Links below to Stella Ridley chapters 01-06, 07-12, and 13-18 and wildcard chapters. You can also find these inthe STeLla RiDLeY page section up top.

Chapters 01-06   01: Holy Moly     02: Deflecting the Gaze     03: One of Them     04: Spooky     05: Do You Think Your Parents     06: Poor Miz Minnie

Chapters 07-12     07: Miz Minnie’s Boy     08: Men     09: Ice Cream Murder Man     10: A Smooth Intoxicating Man     11: Deena Draws the Line     12: My First Friend

Chapters 13-18   13: Wolf     14: Summer     15: The Strange Man     16: Move     17: Oh Really Now     18: Dreams

A Chapter with No Number

The Chapter That Can Never Have a Number or a Name

If you would prefer to read one chapter at a time, chapters have been re-posted so they appear in order, and you can simply scroll down from one to the next one starting with Stella Ridley One, which was posted 19 July 2013 and appears on page 5 of post pages: (as of 15 September 2013).

And, hey, thanks for stopping by!

dolldreaming: Door Dreams

the door is dreaming
it has no side
what goes in goes out
or rather there is
no way out
the doll’s confabulations
are the only real thing

trying to escape
one enters distances
where familiar things
limn one’s demise
a chair a whole
country of torturers
a kitchen knife a
killer’s blade a sink
a place for drowning
a place to sleep
a smothering bed

many ways
to the same end
still the doll would
rather wrecks
of distinct proportions
like texting mobs of
easily pissed off men
to make people
so inch by inch
they are nothing
and she’s
big as the world

the demon is dreaming
not of capture
but of things set free
novel concept for
a nether snare
he even weeps to know
what waits when the door
shakes from its hinges
a battered gate
an endless chain

to long for freedom
then to fear it
being everything

San Pablo Avenue, Driving Home