by David Estringel
How black
like night
is your call for counsel
to spirits, rancorous
and thirsting,
darkly,
for the fruitless bounty
of cold teats
and tongue
that bring the unmanned to sway
in this,
Hell’s business.
Curious
the shadows
that escape through hot teeth
and curled lips,
that fall
like judgments—
bloody—
upon noble heads and
gaping maws of graves.
Do hearts of pitch
feel the ambitious stings
of Conscience’s stabs?
Or are they as elusive
as Hypnos’ kiss
or the sweet wet
of warm suckle?
How go, you,
weird sister, true—
Thirst
of Evil’s Sword—
obscured
by the sun
and gold’s warm glimmer
‘round weary brow
and crimson finger?
Watch how you go,
fateful bride,
for baneful cries
ride the breeze
like hoary devils
or dark spells,
long looking
to collect
their due.
David Estringel is a Xicanx writer/poet with works in literary publications like The Opiate, Sledgehammer Lit, and Terror House Magazine. He has published three poetry collections, Indelible Fingerprints, Blood Honey, and Cold Comfort House with his fourth little punctures scheduled for a December 2022 release, as well as five poetry chapbooks, Punctures, PeripherieS, Eating Pears on the Rooftop, Golden Calves, and Blue. Connect with David on Twitter @The_Booky_Man and www.davidaestringel.com.