bealtaine

Swallowing juniper's smoke
Devil divided by fire
We become pure
From greening pastures
To the roots of history

trying to wake up

Plucked out
From swampy peet
Taking deep breaths
Like a newborn
Smacked on the ass
So worldly and wise
I thought of me
So open and curious
I thought of me
But my foolish skin
Constricts muscles
In untidy messes
Feet stuck
In untimely murk
¤
My rounded tongue
Wrap old words
In unfamiliarity
Syllabic gifts
To the humiliation
Of not living up to...
Or just not living
So stupid and repulsive
I think of me
So brilliant and creative
I think of me
Still trying to decide
I burn in my own bubble
Never noticing
The tremendous white moths
Fanning any passion's flames

greased

Men
They think they can fly
Spilled blood
Of contrived histories
Fill polished silver
My last breath
Is air in bubbles
Thoughts on paper
Never realizing purity
In every soul raped
Under that same moon
That put us here
Tethered in escapeless rotation
The endless joke
On me
In clenched throats
And between reddened teeth
Life swallows
One at a time
Beads and stones
Pass hand to greased hand
Like gods

what she said

Her graveled voice left with a sigh
Musket ball speed and tailed fire
For every cloud passed, her voice grew
Dimmer, each pebble a young death
If it was shame, she felt undone
Buttons melted under heat lamps
Lava filled her expecting throat
The scratch of her trigger finger
Forced dry dusted eyes to naught shut
She spoke with an itch a foot wide
But still, her sigh paved the way out