Hemiceratoides hieroglyphica

by Mike Hetzler

Beneath the brackish

dome of night

s|he works on sating

an unusual thirst.

S|he stalks the roosts

of unwitting birds

and tastes greedily

of their tears.

S|he has visited me,

in a space between

the unknown and seen.

Her proboscis gouged

my lacrimal gland like

a man on the highway

stabbing into pieces of trash.

S|he drained my cache

of anguish and departed

for another host with

more hydrated corneas.

Now, when my insides

cry and my eyes strain

and fail to release their

liquids of catharsis,

I lie and wonder if

s|he’s out there

crying for me.

*Previously published in volume 3 of Brave New Word Magazine