The crested hedge blocked the view of the campsite, but Elliot could smell the charring of apple wood. The bush was beautiful in its wildness and Elliot bashed it aside without a second thought to gaze down at the little fire, indented into the earth. The logs wore weak. They had aged, greying and textured with dried out wrinkles. Falling ash powdered his head to disguise him as one of them. The lapping vixens wound their way between the martyred trees. With each twirl, their heat brought the wood to life – in orange—and then, like gorgons, their embossed innards transformed into dust. Elliot’s eyes joined them: he felt himself carried on the current of flames and he whirled the dervishes with them, broke into languid waltzes with them, was dipped into tango with them. Soon he forgot about the logs under his pounding feet. The vixens caressed his cheek. They wound around him now, up his legs, to tease his lips with warmth. When they nibbled his ears he felt himself evaporating into the sky and his legs become cramped with arthritis and his muscles atrophy, his skin grown taught. The thunder broke his trance. When he glanced below again, it was the pyre that was puttering out.
©2014 Lex Vex
Formerly Badass Horrible Poetry
This isn't just a poetry blog. Let's be honest, a lot of what I post is poetry but there are more often than not also postings about short stories. I do try to keep this blog separate from my others and post strictly creative work here. Some of it will be better than others, and much of it is in first or second draft stage when posted. These are raw works, and there will be spelling and grammar troubles at times because I use this blog to gauge what works and what doesn't. I use it as a place to get feedback. That's the reason it is "horrible". Because it's not finished-- And why should it be? We all want feedback but most of us are too afraid to put ourselves out there.
Welcome to my word.
Welcome to my word.