Absinthe December

In the whispering caves,
hidden under the northern Ireland hills,
way before you were born mdear,
and I was oh so much younger then,
the ravens taught me
their magic languages,
ancient spells
had been passed
down from
the oldest of the trees
still living on the planet.

I don’t need
to fit in any of
your boxes,
my brother taught me that,
the idea that
I could be loved,
freak that I am,
creep in the night
that could see through
the crawlspaces
in your brain,
taste energy
like licking up
absinthe from a spoon
on a rainy evening

in December.

To Write

Could I just be wildly myself
with you?
Even in the most
pure mirrors
and honest relationships,
I have held much back,
a closed guillotine
that I couldn’t seem
to pry open,
craving to howl out to you
the darkest and most
light pieces in me,
vibrant prisms glowing
in the moonlight shade.

The trick was to
trust you.
I was always trying
to force it,
silliness of course,
yet still seeing ugliness,
cruel words spoken
in moments of anger,
but I kept my
mouth stapled together.
I didn’t say
the hurricane in my head.

Mmm I wanted to,
my god,
to shout out
so badly,
to open truly,
but something’s so broken within there,
keys to my mouth,
they are in shards,
scattered to the
earth ends
and I cant
move my tongue,
just the way I want it,
stare you in your face
and create careful words,
carving them out with my teeth.
How dare you
disturb my fire breathing
What is it now?
I was pressured
to get up on my virgin pedestal
and entertain you
so you could jack off
in the crowd
then blame me for your
bad habits,
Oh fuck no.
I whisk those demons
out of my body,
years of toxins clogging up
my bloodstream,
give me such a pain
I was up all hours,
all of my nights
whispering to the gods,
for why I am still here?

To write,
to heal,
to help. 

Staring into Wonderland

I was breathing in your nature
when you awoke me
from my slumber.
I dreamt of
singing low and loud
down white wedding aisles,
completely naked except for
my big red wings glowing high
above my head,
teasing bridesmaids in the belfry,
my hands seek under petticoats
to the moans of mystery maidens.
The clock sounded
her thunder tones
and we came down
topsy-turvy staircases,
walking up walls
into the parlor
to fuck on the ceiling
where I can see the
sirens sway sultry
in the dust that gathers amongst corners,
away from the sunlight,
whispering of all my indiscretions
over the years,
hissing in my earlobes
while I kissed your nipples.

There was a volcano coming,
slowing building in
my belly,
reaching its claws
into the earth by way of my
sinews and blood,
through my bones to toes
and northward,
within the chinks of my spine
to the brain,
up, up,
to the moon,,
growling some melody
Id heard drift
through my childhood,
balloons filling my room
for my birthday
when I was six
and that “sweet caroline” song
echoed through
the hallways
of better days long gone.

The inferno inside me
remembers everything,
the feelings you ignited,
the anger that time at the restaurant
at two in the morning
when you yelled at the waitress
who looked so weary.
I see the patterns in human interactions
like a series of connecting constellations
in my head,
visions so intense sometimes that
I stopped in my footprints
and stared sadly into

the wonderland space.


Frankly madam,
I don’t recognize
that drained beast
heaving grief soaked breaths
into the mirror.
Cant you see her?
Was I the only one
now to witness the pain
flit across my bloody ears?

She twitches and
looks through your eyes
down to your mouth
and into your throat.
She knows you then
and stays there
because she had no other home
to hide in,
no cave dark and safe enough
to thrust her naked body into
and sigh relief.

Shes everywhere now,
whispering across the faces
of my fellow elders
who have seen hell,
all over you wander,
and I weep


We made love first
in the cemeteries of Salem
with the mists created of weeping angels,
rain falls ever so delicately
against our shoulders
as our mouths water pleasure.
I was a harlot heretic then
and no one
could remember my name.
some such pleasant signifier,
someone to call out to
in the dark
when the winter comes wailing.

Did my blustery bones
wake up?
I stitch them
back together
in the midnight hours,
under the mushroom where
dust and grime
are shaken off
in protest and
and our eyes

open to the wide wild world.


Stay with me,
I beg you.
Remind this old n
haggard witch
that love or hope
does exist
in the blue haze,
under the mushroom
of that sensical caterpillar.

With my people
lost forever at sea,
I stagger to the beat
of the elite,
backed into cobweb corners,
suffocating in the deep dark.

Im buzzing with
bad memories,
trauma visions,
on and on
into the morning.
And the hate
was too great
around the globe
spitting out at each other
with harshness, so
I ate through
copper wire,
arsenic laced pencils,
fairytale and telling
and drank diesel
with cup and saucer,
of course my dear,
til twilight.

I was walking around
with a blazing fire
on my back,
making me twitch
and freak,
hide in my closet
with the candles
praying to some unknown magic,
til the candles started
lighting themselves

and I sighed in relief.