Violins were the start of the resistance.

Violins were the start of the resistance. Though macabre, we sat in a circle and thumped the beast out together so as to not forget the reasons for being here in the first place. Tom Waits and Alice sit aloft the tower, heads down with crooked necks they keep the time running on its heels. Covet the circumstances in which clothes were exchanged and identities lost in the awake hours, drenched in the sun through the window though we pain for eternity to last a lifetime.

Battered women and sacred Egyptian goddesses are harvested for their weaponry and rescue profits: the government smiles while you turn your back to see the sun set on the third day.

Walls harbor us no safety, we stand naked and wishful thinking want for peace and silence to gather our wits and nash our teeth through the flesh and chains that hold us here. December brings a frostbite that lies to the neighbors long enough for us to continue on our backs towards river track through the forest.

Mob monsters rape the children of the fortunetellers, gypsies gave way to vampire earrings and eyes that will melt the monster out of you- swimming toxic flattery and forgivable misfits come to the surface and stare me in the mouth.

What was the willow sleeping in when the guards came to arrest him, weeping in the night we walk with you to the cross and crop circles spread across land and sea alike and are akin to melodies dripping out of tongues, licking their way through chaos terminals and viscous serpents bite the desert dust, a sign of reverence and dispute amongst themselves and their court jesters.

I saw the razor to the wrist give in with a sigh and I lifted up the girl from the mud to find wings wrapped around her, keeping her safe from the fates of the men from centuries past to be awake again anytime and soon to preach out the same stanzas over and through the mists of Avalon.

I dance the harlequin to sleep and mystic perfumes lead us astray from the poison pit that was meant to give us back to life once again, so we heard and believed. Following a leader can be just as hard as trecking a path of your own making- culture is unkind. Thus resistance was imperative to the transfusion of light into red darkness and back again.

Hearts never hurt less, every blow was a hit in the head by the ferris wheel that came toppling down on innocent bystanders and the mythos of detox heroin computer programming. Give the serpent a wink and he usually keeps your secrets for you, at least until you’ve forgotten what you have told whom and where.

Serial killers pulse to a different racked torrent than other bees droning on to find their masters’ house empty and the family dead, caught whilst eating dinner and the apple pie burned in the oven. The world caught on a pinwheel of dissonance and scare tactics, and we welcoming in every new age with still hope for the future, somehow.

Barbie dolls walking around and standing on streetlights asking for change, for sex favors and money tips on the newest fashion markets that came from the western and east north regions of someone else’s hemisphere.

I asked the queen, just this once, for relief and got a mouthful of chalk instead. Head to the ground, we dig our ways and ins and outs, through the brimstone and water lilies, past the weeping willows and the cats sitting in their perches. Under water and through the fires that lead to nothing, we persist and resist on—a magnet to the earth, we are.

Keeping step with our ancestors is a learned cause and now to mock out loud the past insects and feeble tongues of ages Cancer and Capricorn (or so I heard from a transvestite with a whooping cough disease). Stand and be alone altogether and learn to topple the jabberwocky by one’s self, adapt now to take on the chess game and set of a lifetime of learning and patience. Caught in the shape of an eye, wink and take flight.