THE SLEEPER’S LIMBO

 

Stephanie Smith

 

to be in this world but not

clutching at a hypnogogue

drowning in sweat-drenched sheets

you are jealous of the sky

envious of the evening that

is rich with blood of the unclean

you make company with the dead

who float balletic through silken streets

you sing their songs and ring the bells

enveloped in shadows, you cannot tell

where life ends and death begins

you ignore the voices to awaken

the fear of falling through the earth

reaching for the dream that lies

just beyond your grasp

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​

FLIGHT

 

Stephanie Smith

 

These days I leave my body in

a moment of flight. A wave of panic

I try to dream each day but drown

 

These days the taste of flesh is futile,

but bulging veins have secrets to tell

I'd like to cut them open and see what they might spill

 

I am crawling out of my skin

I am prone to violent whims

as sharp as the stars above

and honed for times like these

 

Am I a vulture or a dove?
Do I crave the blood that runs free from gaping wounds?
Or will I fall back down to the frozen ground

bruised and broken and screaming for air?

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​

IMMACULATE CHASM OF A MOONLESS NIGHT

 

Stephanie Smith

 

Sometimes I dream

I’m wide awake

in that immaculate chasm

of a moonless night

where secrets hide

behind a shrouded sky,

where the fountains of youth

have all but run dry

 

Angels kiss the crippled waters

where bastard children drown

Oh what Stygian

nightmares they must have

to be cradled

by this madness,

sung lullabies

by women who

could never have

kids of their own

 

I dream babies

born with fairy wings

plot homicides while

asleep in their cribs –

Quiet and unassuming

like an assassin

living next to you

 

Like the velvet darkness

of a moonless night

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​

Stephanie Smith is a poet and writer from Scranton, Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared in such publications as THE HORROR ZINE, CARNAGE HOUSE, APHELION, RAVEN CAGE, THE LITERARY HATCHET, and ILLUMEN.