Sex Resurrection

It felt oddly natural
that the wolf
would awaken
the phoenix from her slumber
with his haunted howl.
Earth to fire
back to earth,
we stumble through
our parts,
our characters,
our elements
always changing with the weather.

Sex resurrection,
obscene holy,
profane miracles,
my magic trick
was to see inside the mirror’s reflection
and understand its ethereal alchemy
though the experience was dumbed down
with useless language
that never explained exactly
what I'd seen,
and the pathetic cycle
of forcing myself 
to either
speed up or
slow down
my brain’s circuits
to fit the crowd,
cause I was expected
to still pay rent right?
Still having to chat with neighbors,
talk about work and war,
go to parties and be scintillating,
still having to rage on government spending,
argue that Black Lives DO Matter,
fight misogynistic assholes about
payoffs to set
rapists free
so they can go back to making America
a proud sporting nation.

What did you want me to say?
I ate my organic grapefruit
for breakfast,
worked towards the picket fence dream
that wasn’t mine,
kissed the wife,
exercised for 30 min,
fed the kids,
went to bed,
when what I really did
was wake up
an hour after I was supposed
to be somewhere
with a headache I tried to ignore,
washed my
anti-psychotic meds
down with the
leftover glass of wine
from the night before,
ate a peppermint patty
as I threw on
the clothes that were
on the floor
closest to my bed,
stumbled out the door,
lied through the days with
“Im fine.”
“It’s fabulous,”
all the while thinking:
Act Normal,
God please
let my fake normal
again today
because really
Im a walking hurricane
and I just miss my family
and want to go to a home
that Im forgetting.

Even so,
I kept pulling
the Tower
over and over:
the tarot will
yell at you
until you hear her.
So I saw the beginning of the crumble
of all the boring social “norms”
and the birth
of the wild and peculiar,
we are falling from the sky above and
rising from the ground below.

Careful now,

for we are coming.

Fire Mouth

I decided today
not to be the punch line
of my own jokes anymore,
enough already,
haunted by
violence poured down me,
I writhed in
snake skin,
coughed up
glass shards and snails,
train tracks, and
the bannisters of haunted houses.

Was that your ghost
leaning on the doorframe
sharpening your teeth
with a handsaw?
You grin like
some wild thing
hunkering down in the wet grass
ready for the killing.
But I am one of those
that can look at you,
Dead face,
and take your language
into my mouth,
fire breaths
to mold your ice words
into hot visions,
supple flow, glow, and ebb,
madness profound
and exceptional.

I stopped in mid-thought,
to hear your wanting
before it’s spoken.
The body shows desire
through the bones
and the subtle moves of the soul
before the consciousness
even knows the desire-
the boy lies
but the body
will be heard
if one listens for the rhapsody
for we are all made of music

and trembling.

Teeth Clench

Teeth clench,
I ate spiders
and sucked out
the blood of the
hounds birthed
in that grit hell
Im still chained to,
twitching between
empathy and apathy.

I know
nothing is forever
but our stardust,
and I do
see the light
even from the
water well
in which I cling to.
I am aware the exquisite exists
and I delight
in the day
when I can
but I twisted more towards
the macabre
and completely
fucking insane-
I fell too far
down the rabbit hole
and no one dared follow.
The sorrow
has changed me
into something
I do not know,
the mirror
warps my image
into a moaning ghost
that fades in and out
with the music

that beats loud below.

Holy Witch

Did the clock
strike twelve
as it counted
backwards from heaven
to earth?
I felt the elementals
and their magic
fall into my head
and surround me
leaving whispering visions
in my ears,
thoughts of the
savage and strange,
horror and revolution,
gore and glory,
haunted by angels
in my sleep,
and as the daytime
fell on its face,
I left my body
for the astral plane
to re-awaken
the holy curse

of the witch.

The Metronome's Drunk Again

Was it you
that I saw
swinging high
outside my window?
A sick carousal,
a drunk metronome,
we ride together
the ferris wheel
of the psychic psychotic 
and the damned,
and I felt myself
slipping back into
the undercurrent
as the soft tongued humans
hushed my words
with silver linings
and half truths
that ended up
being whole lies
which was no surprise to me,
cynical fuck that I am,
ha ha.

Drama drama drama,
getting rich,
getting pretty,
getting popular,
where were
the wild ones
getting free?
I felt like I had
lost them in the hurricane
that swept over my house
with a scream.

And in between the
grocery lists and apathy,
I picked out mangos
and thought of Lacan’s idea
of the Big Other,
the Big Brother,
a cultural system of rules
that chains us to
its fucked up version of morality:
but I shrugged off the thought,
self censorship
at its best,
feeling too deep,
too dark,
and way to “out there”
as you would say,
so I went back
to counting facebook likes,
rolling my eyes,
clenching my teeth,
buying too much Nyquil,
and listening to my roommate
throwing his mind up
after drinking himself stupid.

But maybe
things weren’t all bad,
there are still
hats with fancy feathers
sticking out of them,
having mashed potatoes
for dinner because you feel like it,
finding an easy parking spot
when your 10 minutes late,
watching re-runs of Murder She Wrote
when insomnia hits again,
poems by old souls,
remembering you’ve got
ice cream in the freezer,
Bob Dylan and Tom Waits on vinyl,
shirts that make your boobs look sensational,
a kind message from an old friend
almost forgotten,
a sexy whisper and a kiss,
a secret shared,
a fire lighting
up life again

with a glow.