Dialogue Between God and the Ghost

Where we lie, numb as a fossil,
night arrives, closing doors with
little sighs, starless and motherless.
Fleeing through my fingers, I am bled
white most devout with quick hands,
like spiders in oceanless spaces of the
soul. I cast off my identity. Blank as
when I was born, Sunday's ghost
cannot rest seeking dead men's cries.

The hunter appears clothed in the skin
of his kill, corpse-white, walking after
other gods which he knows not. Burning
incense as an offering to Baal, standing
before me, he chatters among the leprous.
The wait for the angel has begun, but no
miracle will occur in a dead lover's eye.
Grief has an honest grimace, blackening
flesh to bone, flowering and devouring me

Alexis Child hails from Toronto, where horror in its purest form is a calculated crime against both the aspirations of the soul and affections of the heart. She worked at a Call Crisis Centre, befriending demons of the mind that roam freely amongst her writings, once lived with a Calico-cat child sleuthing all that went bump in the night, and is haunted by the memory of her cat.

Her fiction has been featured in Schlock Magazine, The Official Fields of the Nephilim Site, SinisterCity, and U.K.’s Dark of Night Magazine.

Her poetry has been featured in numerous online and print publications, including Aphelion, Black Petals, Blood Moon Rising Magazine, The Horror Zine and elsewhere. 

Her first collection of poetry, Devil in the Clock, a dark and sinister slice of macabre horror, gothic, surreal & supernatural poetry is now available on Amazon.

Visit her website: http://www.angelfire.com/poetry/alexischild/

Find more by Alexis Child in the Author Index.

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