@p_edda

Sometimes I put words together with other words || Editor of @TwistedMoonMag

Joined March 2013
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Spoiler: I like languages, ladies, alliteration, mythology, and the idea of universes in which all my possible lives are being lived.
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Look at all these beautiful words we've published 🌛🌜
Twisted Moon@TwistedMoonMag7 Aug 2020
Issue 5 has landed 🌕 twistedmoonmag.com/
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You gave up your heart to the last Great War. In the trenches, under a sanguine moon, you will recall cutting the mercy from your chest. You will recall leaving pieces of yourself at every crossroad until you are as empty of desire as the chambers of your gun.
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You will recall the hallowed men, the hollow space behind your ribs that stands as a mausoleum to the things you have killed out of fear, and You are a man made more of entropy now than flesh. On your tombstone it is written: "We have seen everything and we were wrong."
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Your shoulders stoop with the atomic weight of sin. Your hands are cracked and dusted red. You are traveling now, always, onwards towards the hope of Lethe.
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When they burn our books, our canvases, our ink, we will draw hieroglyphs in honey and hide our stories deep inside ourselves. The words will stick to our skin, to our ribs; we will be made sweet with the taste of our own history.
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You are chained to the earth, and I catch the poison dripping above you. You were mighty once, but I have the power to make you writhe.
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A quick reminder to anyone submitting to @TwistedMoonMag: we are here with open arms for your poetry, but please follow our submission guidelines to make the submissions/reading process smoother for everyone! Our guidelines are here: twistedmoonmag.com/submit.ht… And in particular:
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When agriculture failed and our ruined earth could no longer grow life, we became desperate. We turned to witchcraft and planted spells written in ink and blood. They did not yield food, but the creatures rising out from the dirt were born hungry, their teeth whet on our bones.
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Issue 3 is up, devour it 🌕 twistedmoonmag.com/
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It has been centuries since the bone-witch was called to war, but her army is growing, her soldiers waiting quietly just beneath the earth.
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The house at the end of the street is older than anyone remembers, and the woman inside it has witnessed the reigns of ancient kings.
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The curse of a crossroads-deal is that you will not remember making it, and the devil is content to buy as many souls as you can sell him.
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The Australian marriage equality survey is in full swing - want to send us some sexy queer poetry to cheer us up? Twistedmoonmag.com/submit.ht…
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Scientists claimed that the universe could only be understood on a vast scale, but they have not kissed the trail of freckles on your thigh.
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You build a man out of clay. You invoke him into life and give him words. He cannot love you, but he wears the face of someone who once did.
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Boys are made of: wood and wires. The echo of thunder, the song of the north wind, and panicked war drums. The fading dream of being whole.
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Girls are made of: ink, silk, and stone. The memory of blood and the curses hurled at their mothers. Ocean salt, apple seeds, and truth.
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