David W Moore III

Main page for the written works of David W Moore III

More  works (From Marie Laveau's Hot Pink Hearse)



The year was 1983 and I was still in gestation, 
two and a half years yet from my birth. 
Sid and Nancy were mere echoes, not a movie yet, 
but still the face of our generation, 
The muscle rippling under our skin, 
the skeleton in our closet. 

In 1983 I died, 
strangled on my own umbilical, 
a bloodless death yet wrought with blood.  
I might have done it myself. 
 They say that history repeats itself, 
even in reverse. 
And the silence roared. 

 In 1985, I was born, 
a skinwalker to wear my skin as if it were another's. 
Curiosity killed the astronauts, 
but it was malaise and misplaced guilt that killed me. 
 I yanked my own heart out and trod upon it as if it were my worst enemy. 
I like to say I was betrayed by the Trojan Horse 
but it was I who laid in wait inside. 

A fugue in b# imploded in on itself 
taking with it desperate whispers 
marinated in spinal fluid, 
pickled, as it were. 

 That was the year I found the lord in a shot glass. 
 Amen to that, my friend. 
86 proof prayers alleviated the pain 
and rained down death and destruction as well. 
My step in the good soldier's march faltered. 

The voice in the box screamed for escape 
only moments after swallowing the key. 
In 1992, I died for the third time. 
There's something holy in threes. 
I picked up his neatly folded clothes stained with speckled cordite. 
Putting them away, I was amazed that the blood stayed on my hands, 
Not a drop transferred. 

 No longer a skinwalker, merely skin, walking, 
I forced one step in front of the last. 
Line of sight to the horizon, 
a never changing view. 

A barely audible mumble buzzed around my head 
until I swatted it, leaving a muddy smear. 

The year the world stopped spinning. 
You all died. 
Did you know that? 
Oh hell, it was just me again. 
This time, the last,  
a man in an untenable place, 
a world of illusion 
 where the rabbit faded into obscurity inside the hat. 
Faded not with a bang, 
but with an insignificant electronic beep. 
A dancing dot that lost its dancing shoes. 
My eyes turned to stone 
and Medusa laughed 
And laughed. 

1997 was quiet. 
I was birthed again, 
blind as a newborn puppy rooting for a teat. 
I became a skinwalker again, 
but maybe a bit more comfortable with the suit. 
Born of blood 
Died by blood. 
And born yet again. 
Ever immortal,
but ever truly alive? 

 And the silence shed a lonely tear.

© 2011 David W Moore III 

Fireflies wink flirtatiously; 
A night sky of heavenly bodies, 
In mathematically described 
but unfathomed paths. 
Miniaturized paparazzi 
immortalize smiles and poses, 
Firing so rapidly to become 
an antique projector. 
With clack and whir 
the best of times play across our faces 
in soundless black and white. 
Behind us, shadows grow long and dark. 
Strobe light flashes give them life. 
Horrific specters and wraiths 
Dancing to the beat 
as it implodes in a silent roar 
Swallowing brilliance 
and dissolving shadows 

Black rain falls 
Coursing across nothing 
Washing it clean... 
Silence screams 
and falls back 
Once again, nothing becomes. 

A firefly winks hesitantly. 
Another answers... 

© 2011 David W Moore III 

Alice and the Event Horizon



Brushing the wisps of solar wind from my hair 
Nebulous clouds fog the mind that I wear 

I wander 
And ponder 
Never here, never yonder 

In a sea of tranquility, violence abounds, explodes and rebounds 
And crashes into shore: a galactic tsunami of sights and sounds 

Splashing light and matter 
As mad as a hatter 
Ascending, unending, the famed Jacob's Ladder 

But Scylla wages war with her vortex of star-dust 
All heed her call for here even Apollo must 

A quick pass 
Much too fast 
But I'm drawn back to her mass 

Death's eye, hypnotic abyss, opens wide as I come 
Time slows at the edge of the well, making all feel quite numb 

Scylla smiles 
Her womanly wiles 
Disguising her deadly guiles 

Time stands still as the Stygian beast unfolds 
And sightless, soundless, timeless, explodes 

I am no more 
But at the core 
Senseless, I shout a silent roar 

Nothing means anything where everything is naught 
And the weight of the world crushes everything wrought 

But I can't feel 
There's no even keel 
Spinning wild like a broken wheel 
Sable maelstrom 
Blued steel umbilical tethers spectral kiss 
Sorrow falls at terminal velocity to a chalk outline on a cracked street 
Ensanguined soul scatters pearls on a field of poppies 
And the portal spider webs under pressure from the depths 
And turned 
I brush wisps of solar wind from my hair 
As nebulas cloud the mind that I wear 

I wander 
And ponder 
Never here... 

Never yonder...