“…that right-ward slant in your handwriting indicates a romantic nature. A heart that yearns. Be careful.”
DREAM: I was pulled into a store of walls lined with jars of herbs, tables of books and candles, bells ringing by the windows, the lady of the shop had us each pick out handfuls of colored beads and would string them into a bracelet for us to keep. The two of you wanted beads packed with prayers for luck and gifts coming your way, I thought “the only gift is to give” and picked as many colors as I could. Arranging them, I saw they might form the whole color spectrum, a rainbow wrapping around my wrist. My mother had poppy red lipstick on and I told her she looked beautiful, there reclining on the couch, smiling. Further into another building and warned about what was living in the basement, two went down and saw a group of forgotten children. The eldest, covered in dun-brown cloth, furs, and leather was strong and wild. He told us their struggle, their neglect that lead to complete personal abandon, and that they would soon rise up to meet the sun of our world. On his head weaved long black hair into three braids that curled upwards with flames, ever-burning, at their ends.
I found clove buds on the trail; dried flowers embedded into the ground like nails. Puddles pooled of molasses, thick and dark in place of dirt. Ginger pieces dotting the earth.
All in line, flaunting the fire of your
frame. Fox in the green-plains.
Rough draft of a new but unfinished song.
this morning, resting by the river, i had nothing to offer.
but i knew that she was smiling at me from the dimples in the water.
“Yes, endlessly, forever and ever,” the cosmos says,
and I agree. In leather, or lace, or naked in front of me
something is coming, lotus dust forming feet.
Gold I become when G-d I am thinking of
as I nod off and drink to you-
infinite light, starry-mouth of night,
my thousand-eyed lover
manifested in two.
What I really want is someone to ask me, to beg me to sing for them while they go down on me.
In the bathwater I saw mountains form below my breasts, the faces of thousands of spirits emerging from their heights, making up the shape of the mountain’s prominence. In the sky, near my solar plexus, swirled a hawk reaching his talons towards the middle of a snake that lay coiled near my bellybutton. My hips collected the image of a hand waving goodbye, and all these things were placed within innumerable bubbles foaming into the side silhouette of a beautiful dog.
The source of my neuroses might be philophobic contradictions. Something in me, trapped between actions and reactions. I call the midwife between contractions, thoughts birthed to utterance brought out still born, or grown up deformed, sleeping down in the gutter looking upwards forever, and sulking sometimes. Wishing I learned to bake bread from you and wishing you showed that you loved me in rhyme.
Arrow shot straight to the heart of the doe, Eros shot dead head blown from attachment. Love bubbles up from poisoned well water, sad sap mistook lostness for ecstatic rapture, no fault but our own that we kept dipping to drink; savage thirst and blind union suffering, ultimate movers in a dusty love story.
Myself with Dakota, a friend and eccentric neighborhood two-spirit Lakota beauty who comes around every once in awhile, last night it was for Beltane.
muted by the mattress,
because you would wonder why
i die a thousand times.
