by Garrett Speller
I think, it would start with the wind, a simple,
Summer thing, winding its way over whitecaps and waterboards
Skirting up mountains to mingle with clouds that hang
Over mountaintops, then descending into forests and bringing
The first hints of storm,
A whisper of rain, a darkening sky crawling from
Behind verdant peaks, their descent inevitable
And brutal and final
I can have it no other way,
I implore you: Lady of wrath,
my destroyer, aspect of thunder, reaper, ending of mine,
I love you with a nihilist’s kiss, the rumble of split air
Shatter me with one single, divine strike,
Your fist a falling star, bring heaven to earth;
One final blow to set us free,
I burgeon. I swell, malignant, blossoming with
A hatred that must, somehow, somehow be divine, uncontainable in
This pitiful flesh, a thing of embers, born of basilisks and brimstone;
I cannot breathe and
My blood boils with starfire…
I persist. Persist, on past zebra and amen, on into impenetrability,
On — into nightmare
ashen and cold.
Garrett Speller is a college teacher in Tokyo, Japan, a game designer, and an aspiring author/poet. His creative work has previously been featured in Kyoto Journal, The Bristol Noir, and The Clockwise Cat. Those achievements, however, pale in comparison to the look on his student’s faces when he wore a banana costume to school for halloween.
January House Literary Journal 
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