Modern Day Shamans

In the east
we sang spells
that we weaved and heaved
into the cloud cover
with such a great force of magic
they shook the doors off the hinges
of heaven
and fell back to
the earth
like a storm.

Life is wild
and so are those wicked
drugs that tell us stories and
linger in our closets
til the room starts 
to feel
while the green speckled lizard
sits in its grace,
next to you, in the coffin,
and she speaks at you
just in case
you awake again- truly,
we are never
ALONE alone.

And oh,
the slow sprawl
of the hours awake,
shifting moods, shifting bodies,
shifting eyes,
we are our own
modern day shamans
winking and weary

in the daylight.

On a Clear Night

On a clear night,
we could hear an echo
of the future’s prophets
in between the trees
that creak like
opening doors to heaven
who sat coincidently curvy
right besides us
whispering sweet secrets
into our blazing eyes
even though our third breaths
were still set to the
metronome machine
that banged on and
the grandfather clock
feels out of date
so he slumps back to his bed
with that kind of hangover
one gets from
making it through another
sunset to sunrise.

I was in my own good green graces
picking prickly problems
out of the jars
in your cupboard
and singing out
“Swing Low, Sweet Chariot”
to the drunks
walking up on 7th street
in the dripping heat
past girls sitting in cafes
talking back
to their hallucinations
and laughing
with heads thrown back.

Gender Bending

His eyes shift
to the right just slightly
when he lies
and the other performers wonder
what thoughts
run through
the rivers of his skull,
what words refuse
to come out of his mouth
and instead sit cradled
in the caves of the stomach.

He likes to think
of me as reckless,
like the sea,
even when I sit
and watch the rainfall
as I wait
to make love to
when she comes
around again.

He stands in the mirror
looking back at me
when I walk up
to the glass
and smiles a big Cheshire grin,
all teeth,
with a knowing
and a third eye showing,
blinking and grasping
for my lungs
to share my breath,
as I wonder to myself

who am I?

Moonshine Baby

Moonshine baby
was I,
only seen
in the slits of the sky,
between trees and
underwater glistening,
and on occasion
smashing into the earth
from a hefty height.

when I arrived ground bound
for a season in the heat of June,
we sat
in that wooden porch swing
under the willow weeping,
getting drunk on whiskey,
and listening
to the hiss of the vines
as they slithered up tree trunks
in the summer,
when death
laughed at the back

of my throat,
and I shivered
when you said with a giggle
that we could live forever
because I knew it was a lie. 

Mind Fuck

I was slowly drifting off
to the sound of my own
and from under the floorboards
of my sanity,
all you could say was:
Fuck you,
Get better,
and deal with it,
which made me cry tears
of blood and volcanic ash
until I passed out
from the lava
stuck in my lungs
and regained consciousness
just long enough
to miss my brother
and his kind and gentle spirit
that always grounded me
when my madness
became too much for me
or anyone else to bare.

And in the night,
my demons tore at my skin,
mouths dripping blood,
stripped me naked
and laughed
throwing coins in my face
which you didn’t seem to think
was a problem.

But even so,
I felt a steady beat
deep within me,
a purging pulsing
that thumped my body
awake to
tease the twilight,
make her moan
and beg for more
until her pleasure
made her smile

wide and wonderful.