The Fifth Ace
~or~
Asexual in Wonderland
after “The Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll

Twas brillig and the slithy toves 

did make such a mess in our backyard, 

sighed Ace of Spades, burying heads in the grove,

for he was that kind of card. 

All mimsy were the borogroves, 

so romantic, and yet so far!

sighed Ace of Hearts, while painting a rose

for he was that kind of card. 

He took his vorpal sword in hand, 

In fair duel, beating him wouldn't be hard, 

muttered Ace of Diamonds, quite in the rough

for he was that kind of card. 

So stress with me by the tumtum tree,

where I will question myself apart, 

 piped Ace of Clubs, anxious 'bout who he'd be

for he was all kinds of a card. 

And as in uffish thoughts they stood—

Club all a-questioning, Spade covered in dirt—

Now came their neighbor Alice, through the Tulgeywood

Spotting Heart all aflutter, Diamond drinking his hurt. 

Hey you! Yes you! I brewed and brewed,

I've come to bring you all a snack!

They left their dread and leapt instead 

For their friend galumphing back! 

And hast thou brought the Jabberwock? 

asked Club, while Diamond scuffed his head

Oh frabjous day! We feast today!

Spade cheered as Heart broke bread. 

Twas brillig and the slithy toves  

did gyre and gimble for each ace 

but when their friend has come to call 

they're happy Wonderland is their place. 

Fairy Tale Love

first published in Necro Magazine

Not all fairy tales

By true love's kiss were resolved;

Not all love's that kind.

Hansel and Gretel

Lost, lured, suffering as one

Burned the witch as one.

Gerda and Kai, friends

Sacrifice through bitter storm

To warm frozen hearts.

Brother and Sister,

Runaway, spellbound siblings

Protect each other.

Seven ravens flock

Girl ventures to edge of world

To see her brothers.

Six swans taking wing

Girl sews in silence for years

So brothers can land.

And Thumbelina

Cared deeply for her swallow

Who helps her take wing.

So I wonder now

If a spell imprisoned you

Deep and dark and strong

Would holding you dear

All the comfort I can give

Be love true enough?

What if the swan lake's

Enchantment breaks by choices

To love, not one vow?

What if the beauty

Loved the beast differently,

Unconditional?

What if the mermaid's

Human prince shared souls, did life

Without a single kiss?

What if I told you

No need to change who you are

Nor me who I am

Love of friends transcends

Beyond til death do we part

Sweetest of them all.

Snogging Frogs

first published in Kissing Dynamite

I'm told it's sweet, the first kiss 

There's fairy balm upon my lips, 

there's strawberries to taste,

& then there's drinking,

& then there's a feast. 

Upon my lips is the first time, 

something that must be broken 

at just the right time

Bottled princess virginity, 

sparkling eternal youth.

The frog never asked for a kiss

exactly, but worse. To be kept, 

to eat from my plate and drink

from my goblet, to sleep in a 

bundle of sheets by my bed. 

You understand why I threw

him. You understand why 

the wall splattered. 

You understand why I chopped

off his head. 

Then a human prince emerged,

naked, from the wet frogskin.

I'm told he was handsome. 

I'm told I should have given him 

a chance. I'm told 

the kiss would have

turned sweet. 

But there is only the frog 

only the tadpole 

only the wet amphibian

where there should have been

transformation. 

Nothing's worked yet. 

Yin

What is there to talk about,

you scoff. Not doing

something, the absence, 

the negative space, the white crayon

in the Crayola set. 

The broken arrow 

in the quiver. 

What isn’t there to talk about?

How everywhere we turn,

we brush up against it.  

We pale, we deepen, 

we enhance, we change

everywhere other colors

are met. 

Everywhere

is an inhale and we

are the exhale. 

Everywhere 

is noise and we 

are the sabbatical.

Everywhere 

is on fire and we are

the sacred cool of night. 

We are the self in a world 

of comparison. 

We are the choice to love

in a world of falling. 

FLOOD

(plain text version)

consider the oceans reclaiming the land

consider the wretchedness of man

consider the animals 2 by 2

male & female, destruction, 

black-streaked skies once blue. 

consider yourself righteous and seen in the world

consider  s i x  d a y s, 

f o r t y  d a y s, 

t h e  h u n g e r  t h a t  h u r l e d. 

when I consider the Flood, a folklore begins

a world that rages in pain where there is sin

when I consider the ark, a light in the dark

survival of good despite all that’s torn apart,

I consider the tale where coupled animals are called

to make     love    while storm-tossed in a rollicking squall

how strange it is, then, the onslaught of acetic words

that claim humanity relies on keeping tiny boxes of boy-meets-girl

clipped up and hedged in, into nuclear families we hide

as if the world continues to only in small spaces reside

because the world jump-started with complementary design

folks cling tight to roots without seeing growth over time. 

you’ve stolen the rainbow, they rage and they shout

the covenant for everyone! you’re making us doubt!

as if the colors aren’t painted in untouchable skies

as if a spiritual vision were some material prize

as if the promise that creation shall continue all the more

& the pleasure of multiplying as an option to explore

and the miracle in the skies painted with rain, vapor, and sun

were not an open door to a whole new world for everyone

as if the peace and diversity we are now free to make

would rob stories from the sky

and make the earth ache. 

I consider the animals, the chosen beginnings, and their love,

consider that I might be drowned then if I didn’t have someone,

that my bloodline grows cold, so there’d be nothing to save

in a world going under the righteous dark waves. 

But their context is not mine, their ancestry and roots

are but one specific color in a spectrum of divine truth. 

I see tale of tempest, of wrath & of rage. 

I feel a witness of cultivating tiniest of life in that age. 

I find a heart of salvaging what we can, & from refuge, become anew. 

I know a heritage of promise—I exist, 

Cuz God’s will is steadfast still: 

New colors come from mixing two.