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

awkward,

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,

god,

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feels out of date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 7^th 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

silent

and watch the rainfall

as I wait

to make love to

midnight

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.

So

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

screaming,

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.