The Storyteller

we will slay the storyteller

whose tales last

no longer than the moment of waking

bleeding feasts

on weeping tables

a madness of owl's feathers

howl through the maze

I am not the one you waited for

auguries aside

for the teller of tales still bleeds

beneath my hands

take what comfort you may

that I am not here for your sake

and I do not intend to save you

Brenda Gerritsma, © 2003