by Travis Hughes

Ain’t confronting you, moon-faced succubus
you, standing in the slow motion squall
you, the outlined sketch of what puts me in my place
you, muttering lips and rime-stoic glare

And in the curve of my retreat,
I force out the phrase,
‘Just relax, my friend.’
Calm unstable echoes make it easier to deal with
Echoes of water splashing someplace
This is more
More than chickening out of the mood
This is more
More than sickening ice-bed sweats of panic

And in the tangled vines of my brain
I drop bread crumbs, so
Hopefully there I will return
To my hillbilly face elongated and distorted
By fire-glass blown into ravage fingers
Across my spectacles

Ain’t confronting you, goose-fleshed phantasm
you, splintering the deadwood of my tranquility
you, brandishing long agate claws
you, with nose casting a malicious shadow
Across your spectacles

You’re exposed by my float to the surface
And disinfected by sunrise’s saffron butter
Convincing me that you were naught
But for a period did return of you
Tormenting’s dead of night courtesy calls
Puberty gave me a set of balls
To muster the solace
To shatter you with the chorus of sanity
Into tiny fragments of the revealed mundane reality