lunar beast

Sabrina Zhong

Beneath the stainless satin light of moon, a hunter and his hounds wait and watch.

A huntress and her helpers wade and wash— gleaming, splashed with sterling, when he sees her.

She seethes, resplendent, white-hot, when he sees, her rage an arrow hissing through the branches.

He whirls, attempts to flee—velvet branches unfurl; steps turn to hoofbeats; he remembers felling deer with trusty dogs. They remember nothing of their master. He is prey and bone.

Nothing remains but guilty blood and bone. The hunt complete, his hounds, uncalled, return.

A single glance the point of no return, beneath the soundless scarlet light of moon.

The Start of Something 1

Dark rooms make great resting places making the enigma placing desensitized under my head waiting for the epiphany to light my space. I woke up with a bungalow in my throat. The doors wildly open and shut in every breath.

The ceiling of my room became rain. God was crying over my head He thundered to me his first heartbreak and lighting his true love. God rested in my bungalow.

He created a city of where I was no longer estranged God granted me with enough Culture sharpened a knife for me with American Ethnicity carved black in the handle Gender painted woman on the blade

Epiphany returned with man and man told me to not my knife became not American enough, not black enough, not woman enough

I was damned to who I was damned to what I was damned to am I was damned to are I was damned to I I was damned to you

Misplaced