the white angels demoted

snow falls purely

as dead virgin fairies

wet-dry wings

cold carcass-ings

piling up on cold iron whence?

accumulating evidence

of elemental

frozen genocides

that lie clean and quiescent

in iron countrysides— bent

sleeping safe and translucent

muffled icy, cryptic ringing

this silent sylph nation

under white sound insulation

their ethereal code stops singing


the conquered race in hiding

no guardians here revealing

Jack Frost nipped at my nose

on the Feast of Stephen suppose

my third eye is now activated

the ancient alchemy accentuated

I can see them from folklore

mythical but alive and more

let loose upon us legendary

like water on gremlins— very scary


so add the salt, sand and humanity

and open your third eye, like me

the witchcraft cauldron will be bubbling

their thawing resurrection coming

rendering them rabid pranksters

dirty, loud banshee wankers

on crunchy, sexy city streets

they become reborn fornicators

devil elves spinning

spirits of malice sinning

these demons grinning

creating magic havoc

among us fleshy mortals

and our warm mechanicals

of aluminum and plastic


supernatural sprite

green eyes that often bite

don’t follow the will o’ whisp

unless you want the mischief

dry, stale bread in pockets

church bells, ringing lockets

four-leaf clover is the clout

wear your clothing inside out

and cold iron is the poison

to the hobgoblin legion


why does Snow White have black hair?

is that pure and fair?

and her lips wane

like cherries in pain

that sounds dirty

like that prostitute’s

soul-swapping at night

why is her name, Snow?

it should be black and white, right?

the dwarves are duality, as well

seven evil gnomes from hell

with those funny, harmless names

they’ll swap your baby

for a changeling in a high-ho

and then, it’s off to work they go


there are acid amalgams

in frozen rain realms—

the white angels demoted

snow falls pure?

I used to eat snow

I don’t anymore

fairies will break your teeth

cause severe indigestion

and laugh hideously

while they do it—


even the dead virgins

About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
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