Dark and Dirty Magic

Dark and Dirty Magic 

In the muck of midnight’s marrow,
Nails scratch secrets in the grime,
A cauldron spits its embers red,
Sweat and sorrow turned to brine.

A hag’s breath seeps from the shadows,
Tangles with the city's wheeze,
Cobblestones slick with snake oil,
Where wretched dreams beg and bleed.

Witches whisper in the waste,
Mixing potions of broken glass,
Mud-slick palms grip sooty coins,
Fingers of bone weave a hex to pass.

Under the sway of a rusted moon,
Knots of night tie tongues in twine,
Crows cackle on the jagged ledge,
Feathers matted with pitch and grime.

Through alleys thick with whispers thick,
The air is damp, ripe with dread,
Charms dangle from sewer grates,
Bleeding rust, a curse of lead.

Beneath the skin of a dying street,
Candles flicker, cold and crude,
A pentacle drawn in gutter sludge,
Swirling with a witch’s brood.

Caustic chants rise from the filth,
Throats raw and cracked from time,
Tattered souls with crooked spines,
Bind shadows with a bitter rhyme.

Eyes like coals burn in the dark,
Ashes dance in a dirty storm,
Wizards wretch their wanton words,
Twisting tongues around the torn.

By the light of a sputtering wick,
The spell is sealed with a knife’s kiss,
Blood and bile, sinew and spit,
Magic born from the gutter’s hiss.

Flesh pulls tight as curses curl,
Under the weight of midnight’s sin,
Sorcery stains the moonlit grime,
As the witching hour spins and spins.

-Krissy Whiski

A poem written on the full moon for the solar eclipse.