Poem: Slow Summer's End

Heat-thick air and the scent of

   mown grass

As an old man trims golf-course lines into his
    lawn.

A lone heron over the dry-grass slough,

One circling black dot just above the vivid divide

Between treeline and sky.

Dust-motes hang in the becalmed air,

Drifting among heatlines rising

Off the neighbor's tin roof.

Save for the insects, nature is silent. 

Consume, the Journal of a Dreamwalker: Final Entries

NINETIETH TOTEMPHATHT

This almighty titan knew much, and its power consumes me. 

But for all its power and knowledge, the lingering titan-self cannot satisfy my desire. Instead I have been filled with an aching void which demands substance I cannot provide. Is this how the deiphagists feel in the end?

FIRST UNKEMSPRECHT

Today I glimpsed a mirror. I did not recognize myself. My skin was pale, and my face was not my own. What have I become?

FIFTY-SIXTH UNKEMSPRECHT

I was searching for something. Something important. Can’t seem to remember what it was. Once, though, I was a titan.

SEVENTIETH UNKEMSPRECHT

I don’t remember my name…

FIRST LUONG

My name is Akhule Otimnhir. Eons ago I ruled a thousand stars. Now, I am reborn.