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Stormy Weather

They speak of my drinking, but never my thirst.

This yearning,

as old as unanswerable questions, fathomless space and a single-celled obsession, will never submit.

No thing could pummel the stave deep enough to fasten me to one bouldered, familiar fissure.

No one could be so sworn or zealous. So unrelenting or resolute as this whittling longing.
Shaving away to the clotted red quick.

The ceaseless, confidential neurosis of a widow lost in war.

Copyright © 2015 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved

Borealis End (The Judas Kiss)

Borealis undulation from a clear green midnight pasture
I sang every florid hue, a maestro of chromatic flight.

Decades before days and months, the early years before The Fall,
‘fore the feeble greed of need, before the bedlam and the gnashing

came the verdant azure Earth, a docile tenderfoot in battle
Nursed it, rubbed its reedy spine, my Northern Lights became its Rhine.

Kaleidoscope seduced the stars, narcotic prismbands slow-splashing.

Decades after epochs, eras, brittle are my midnight pastures
but again in this dark light I usher forth my pyre dancers.

In this iridescent spectrum, moths ascend still flapping ardent
only to be swallowed into billowed clouds of pallid poison.

Pestilent pollutant smog,
unassuming, unassertive
choked my technifire sky.

The unexpected flame retardant.

Copyright © 2015 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved


Many people experience to varying degrees (at least once in their life) what is known as Depersonalization. A defense/protective mechanism triggered by the brain in response to severe threat, anxiety or trauma. The prefrontal cortex activates to inhibit the brain's emotional regions, and the result of this is the sensation of feeling as though you are existing within a dream throughout your day to day activities -sitting in a chair positioned far in the back of your mind, looking out while your body carries out its daily tasks. This feeling is also often accompanied with the suddenly inability to feel.

The reason why this experience can be worse than the alternative (purging and expressing your emotions openly and facing them) is because of the way our sense of self is directly tied to our emotions.

Without your feelings, it is as if there is no sense of self, no true recognition of your own receptivity on an poignant level. Without emotions, how can one relate to ones own thoughts?

Put in another way -Descartes' expression might more accurately describe our psychology if it read “I feel, therefore I am.”

Field Labour


Sooty night to streaming dawn,
dense sleep-silence of a comatose city.
Air buoyant with blackbird song,
lust dead for Winter while Autumn scorns all pity.

Her heart a fertile land, coals burning in the hearth,
now seeds with soil splintering,
making way for Love's loud birth.

And so the hour comes again,
the hollow chime
that swoops the bend.

Copyright © 2015 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved


It is time, Lord
From the dry dust
Out of these chains
From the Devil's house

It is time, Lord
To take me
From the dry dust
Break me
From these chains
Bring me
From the Devil's house
Take me
Out of darkness
Walk me
Out of blindness
Lift me
Out of sadness
Save me
...from my damnedness
Please, Lord

Take his blood
and take his spit
and take his bones
and take his mouth
and take his hair
and take his heart
and take his tongue
and take his breath


I had nearly been present.

Like lush morasses in the fossilized reflections of new deserts, I emerged into existence as my excavation began.

Funding cut.
Then the globe flushed with an arid fever.

And claimed again by the Kalahari, erosion bled quickly, and I, back into obscurity.

Copyright © 2015 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved

Oct. 23rd, 2015

Untruths are easy to come by when you can blame them on the other characters living within you.

Copyright © 2015 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved

Cold Case File

She woke in a crime scene. Subdued, ashen light streaming through her windows, a somber sky full of knowing quiet.

Flat in disarray but nary a scant dribble of blood this time.

Glass here, balanced on a narrow shelf, amber poison reaching halfway, sitting thin and pretty as a lake. And there, rolled beneath the overfed couch with a few taupey drops in the basin melting into sugar.

Scarlet-cushioned chair knocked askew on a balcony full of Summer's dying things and one pair of stout twin husks, nicotine raped free, impeccably aligned on a chestnut table. Foul fresh bouquet.
Lead or Red Herring.

Black lace panties, soiled stiff with the damp fading quick, like a Modern Art sculpture, twist-tangled on a frond-patterned carpet.

Lavatory hot spot, rug awry, grey cotton shift scented thick with sick, toilet flushed free of tip offs and slip ups while a bamboo bed denied the frenzy. Delicate post placement of a bullet brassiere, aligned black stockings impossibly sheer, butter soft garters in a lake of sheets, duvet ripe with snuff, crude proof he had been near.

An Abduction.

Always different in the same place with dark matter filling in the blanks.

Only clues snagged in the air were bruised thigh hallucinations and the snaking musk of maplewood rye.

Mongrel sleeping.
Let sleeping dogs lie.

Copyright © 2015 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved


When you hunt for something quietly, pitifully. Searching for a scent trace or a weathered wisp of history... knowing in every cell that in its absence, from the start, it never was there.

Copyright © 2015 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved

Religion Harbors Optimistic Gouls.


Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons and Mennonites
running around like goddamned jackals in sable habits,
breathing hot milky plumes into the paling, frigid afternoon light.

Squeaky pleated bonnets and starched trousers so razor stiff they might walk off their legs straight to Purgatory.

Pearly fangs bared in meat hook smiles and white-knuckled fists clutching glossy moral offerings,
covers slick with aproned mothers and Leave It To Beaver sticky-palmed tots.

They pop out of the ground, brochures shooting from their sleeves, headquarters in Dante's second circle.

Like the premature ejaculation of a rank, decrepit lech,
Halloween comes cold and early but never easy.

Copyright © 2015 by Shay Lhea
All Rights Reserved