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"THE DESERT

'I saw no living thing within; naught was there but bones.' --Moby Dick

Fingers stiffening on a knife
Would carve in air an echo's face,
Would wrench the laughter from a rock,
From dead things in an empty place.

A star hung on a hollow wind
In answer, dares hands hold it still;
The desert, silent, taunts to birth
A Christ to rape the barren hill.

The stone shall bleed, the black sky burn
But when will the giant from slumber stride?
How long must we cringe in a pebble's leer,
Praising the mountain that watches us die?"

Lorita Whitehead, Last Poems (1962)

Last Embrace of Forlorn Lovers.

"Secrecy is as essential to Intelligence as vestments and incense to a Mass, or darkness to a Spiritualist seance, and must at all costs be maintained, quite irrespective of whether or not it serves any purpose." --The Infernal Grove

WIP 👽.