Author: lly1205

Working in Ottawa, Canada, in my spare time I enjoy good food and beer, anime, video games, and D&D. And of course, reading and writing! I have published my first novel, Orison, which is available in Kindle format on Amazon, and my blog here on WordPress is Serial Outlet.

Island mountain sea


Image result for ocean at night with stars

Follow me down inside the island

Where the emerald will burst open

Galaxies pulsing unfolding

Setting Earth above a mountain

Trees at the bottom of the sea

Drag me down inside the mountain

Living lightly and rushing loving

Down cave streams to the island

Spinning stars in that rock ceiling

Reflection on a forever sea

Image from gerald flock

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Cocktail calculus


“What have you got there?”
It was too early in the night – two drinks in – for him to be surprised that she was leaning on the end of the counter, chin in her hands, watching avidly as he poured the contents of the shaker into his glass. Her fingernails tapped out a message, the contents of which he’d be wondering about for days.
He tried to concentrate on the canary-coloured half-rainbow spilling into his tumbler, a parabola restricted before its peak.
“Whiskey sour. Want to try it?” By habit, he offered it to her before taking a drink himself.
The dimple at the center of her upper lip, a local minimum, quirked delightfully as she mulled it over. He could make cocktail after cocktail to watch her mouth do that.
After an almost-too-long moment she made her approval known through the shifting xyz coordinates of her body shifting towards his, a nod and a clever flash of teeth. She deposited the glass back on the counter before him, remarking, “I didn’t know that you could make cocktails.”
“I can make you one.”
“Thanks, but I’m already double-fisting.” Droll, she pulled, from somewhere, a half-full bottle of beer and a glass of water topped with ice. The ice cubes, perfectly square, rattled against the sides.
There was a derivative to be taken somewhere in her words, but he was struck by the familiar sense that he was the only one present doing calculus.
He would have liked to make her a cocktail. He drank his whiskey sour from where her lip chap had left nigh-invisible smudges on the rim.

Beer matrices


She rolled a 5×5 matrix around on her tongue, and it was harder than watching her with a lollipop.

Is your boyfriend picking you up? It was unnecessary, so he didn’t say it.

Instead, “You’re drunk,” he pointed out, not un-humorously.

She leaned back into the couch, and stretched her arms upward with a wince, with evident satisfaction. The matrix glimmered on her tongue as she laughed. Her eyes were sleepy and contented, like a cat’s.

He imagined that she was imagining the arc of a satellite launched up and out into orbit.

“Not really!” she retorted. But she had water rather than beer now, and while she looked faraway in that sleepy, contented way, her expressions also made the two of them closer than they appeared. There was a half-cushion’s worth of couch between them. Rows and columns rattled against the edge of her glass as she drank, the sound like an ice cube.

“You can always stay here, if you want. We have room.” The couch. His bedroom.

The party had died down too much for anything they said to be confidential. Her gamine smile hid the numbers in her mouth, and her utter comfort in the curves of the couch was evident even as she put her glass down on the coffee table, and stood up.

The Crone of the Westward Hunch


Image result for hills sunset

Image from Mickey Shannon Photography

The Crone of the Westward Hunch

For her Eastern twin went searching

And beneath her no road rushed

And none was long kept waiting

She took the lonely mountain paths

And the cowherd’s grassy trail

Towns and thoroughfares she passed

By day and starlight pale

 

Rare was the one who, pausing

Heard more than the branches sigh

In a wind down from the highlands

When the Westward Crone was nigh (more…)

Venus Shipwrecked


What pitch of entropy, what glassy trumpet call

The roar and rolling of a mindless sea

Drowning men of words and beasts of calm

No constant but constant mercury

Shatter there upon the rocks and rise again

To resound, a death knell for death’s rest

That peace which might have been our lot

Between cauldron’s boil and thorny crest

What fury roused and left unanswered!

What ardor, fear, and stark unknowing

Whether against the swell or drifting apart

She cradles – ever sinking, ever floating

 

Ksarveel


Ksarveel, splayed fingers,

and breath arrested, staring

through the void both near and far,

in alien lights yet glistening

she recalls the warmth of a star

But there Earth’s detritus spinning

about a whorl of Lethe’s conception

rocks and silky gravel hissing

without sound upon the Sun’s extinction

all about its inky heart and rim

She, naught but ambient life

in food plucked and flesh contrived

knows death by nanoseconds of non-light

bursting lungs through photons sinking

from star to maw, from day to night