Mary Black

 

Christopher Hivner

  

Mary, Mary

quite dead,

a corpse

more beautiful

than any other,

gathered with

rose petals

and a slip

of incense smoke

for the trip

to beyond.

 

Mary, Mary

as I take

your cold hand

into mine,

remember my touch

and the song

in my voice,

take them

with you

to hell.

 

Mary, Mary

burn, burn

in the fires

of the underworld

for the bodies

you desecrated

and the families

you butchered.

 

Mary, Mary

you burned black

pile of bones

and rank smell,

this is goodbye

from the world

you hated,

say hello

to your master

and tell him

to stay in hell

or we’ll

burn him too.

​

​

Alone, In the Dark

 

 Christopher Hivner

 

 

Sleep is a dream now,

haven’t closed my eyes

in three days.

The Razors

appear at any time,

diving at us

at unfathomable speed

to attack,

using thin, diaphanous wings

sharp enough

to slice an arm off.

We used to travel

in groups to fight,

but that just made us

easy targets

because we haven’t found

a way to hurt them.

Everyone’s on his own now,

starving, sleep-deprived zombies

wandering around desperate

for food and shelter.

The Razors don’t eat our bodies;

they suck out the blood

once they make a cut.

If they get one deep,

the victim gushes like an oil well,

drawing a half dozen of them.

They can drain a body

in under a minute

when in a group.

I don’t know

how many of us are left,

but I’ve seen

more corpses than I can count.

Some people I’ve talked to

want to know

where they came from,

I say who gives a shit,

they’ll own the planet soon

so what does it matter?

I’m hiding in a cave

for now.

I hear Razors outside,

they smell me.

I wrote all this down

in the hope

humanity survives

and conquers these creatures.

Future generations can read

what we went through

and adapt.

Stopping now

because I’m too weak,

I have to move deeper

into the cave,

find a place

to die naturally,

alone, in the dark.

​

​

Deep Field

 

Christopher Hivner

 

 

 

The stars tell me

it’s time to believe

 

The soft light of the past

sparkles for the right moment

 

Particles pass through me

on their way to the other side

 

The past is now

now is the future

 

From the ground I can see

all three at once

​

​

Christopher Hivner, ragnarsaga@gmail.com, www.chrishivner.com, who lives and writes in Pennsylvania’s wilds, not the tropical island he’d prefer, wrote the BP #62 poems, Psycho Joe's Body Emporium, Symbiotica, The Challenger, and When I Arrive  (+ the BP #53 poems, Follow-Up Appointment, Gasoline Roses, and Until They Dissolve. His stories and poems have been published here and there. A collection of his published ‘08 horror short stories, THE SPACES BETWEEN YOUR SCREAMS, was reviewed in BP #54.