Stephen XT
Dec 5, 2023

Getting dark, here in the heat,
Of this Christmastime prelude.
And deep in shadows swelling, demons,
Beasts drawn from wood, ink, by proprietors in
Black shirts, DIY skirts and palimpsest skin.
Tattooed fingers, tattooed toes. I float, a bit
High on the neon, and the brimstone of old memory.
The sense that 1997’s angst escaped, took
Residence in these market stalls, was fed
And succored by the coming of a cloven goat.
It roils here, a tepid violence, a comforting declension,
Holding all the vaunted Hallmark dross at bay,
At least for an afternoon into night.

© SXT 2023



Stephen XT

I write stuff when something begs to me to write. The goal is to write ten-thousand things before I die. I tend to be morbid, reflective and personal.