Somebody, Move.

Slave girl trade
kept me up last night,
the world is weeping,
and I listen best at nighttime,
when the shadows wander, and
the mirror haunts
with staggering,
breathless,
appeal.
I can't stop looking deep,
yearning for even deeper down the rabbit hole,
hard and wet and deep,
but what if I don't want to stop?

The Salem witches are awake
and on the move,
still sizzling from
their wounds,
they start to come alive,
burn again in the moonlight,
as you start to moan again in your sleep,
beautiful sounds of unconscious pleasure
awake within you.

Though we start
to notice the mass hysteria,
the twisted tea parties
that are starting to piss off the Mad Hatter,
the smell of pure upheaval
and revolt was
starting to course through again,
these tired old veins,
still always hear the calling.

Make no mistake,
this is a new level of inferno,
I'm watching the
fallen angels in my head
turn into machine drunk zombie dolls,
sadness turns to
self-loathing and despair,
stop this dark force at work
in the dungeons of our deficit,
and the puppet masters for
the Principal are laughing ever still.

Addicted to sex
and the rush of pleasure,
I hunger for spirits
not afraid to fuck deep waters,
expand our horizons,
we can travel and change,
become misfit gypsies
in quite the traveling
Freakshow,
masturbatory habits disclosed
and prescription pills
letting the mind wander
and weave,
out into oncoming traffic.

I will let you overcome me
just because it felt good
to be wanted a little,
I guess.
Vampires twisting in nightmares,
cancer hot flashes in the corners
of bathroom stalls,
heavy sighs and so on,
the sickle comes down
again on our prophets of the twilight hours.
We stand by and watch
the rite
played out over our bodies,
and say nothing.
enough noise.
Somebody, move.

Alchemy reigns the nightfall.

Sequestering werewolves by classic conditioning, the government gives us pause to reconsider if monsters are not all around us. Keep quiet for a moment, and watch the teething process begin, steps taken to tranquilize the beasts of the dawn and damned. 

The spiral descended on the western plains of America and the Tea Party was co-opted by big hats and large checks to the NRA and Big Brother, same difference if you keep your eyes stapled shut and listen harder than your predecessors. Our villages burn and you seem to worry mostly about the taglines in the cosmopolitan black box that’s left on the lower shelf of the only bookcase in the pentagon. 

Fashion, if done well, declares war on the elite. Where the hell are our differences that make us beautiful? Feathers fly without owners in the night with my dress sliding off my shoulders and no one even seemed to notice the birds dying with oil in between their fingers. The air frisky with its own divergence from the mediums that sat and spat out hypo-necessary intelligence for the apes in the corners of a particular special performance with its VIP encore by someone famous (all other information is classified at this dying hour).

A lounge to the left and down the stairs, I sit and feel as if I am in the wrong time, the naked body bearing witness to the future, the corporate entertainment bleeds the lamb dry again, the scarred sacrifices of teenagers all over the globe in their track suits and stockings. We write to be heard and reckoned with.

Throats deep in the marshes of “Babalon”, Crowley and his witches seem to resound in the thoughts of men of magic and circumstance, plaster and fortune tellers sitting under the earth, waiting for these previous moments to pass and for the risen serpents to take their heads to the throne, splitting bodies (as they do) to sound the alarm of a new wakening. Give in to the sound of light.

Commune with flesh, bones growing and tumultuous changes to come in the generations of poison, drink and be changed. Take the channel and live through it, surround the women around you with light breath and own your own memories, if you can know them in the sense of bible therapy and red herrings.

I beg you to silence. Just sit for a moment with the vampires of old ages, sages of a dark sort to be sure but with power and presence of being above the callings of car parts and vehicular homicide. In your mind, I lie awake.

Blaze to feel sincere about comments on love and some kind of peace in the world, shots of whiskey to save your personality and all this froth ascends you to turn into entities floating above your actual bed frame. Astral traveling, leaving your veins to fend for themselves, you score heights and forensics and cells of bastard renaissance men. The best in the business, I can assure you. 

Dollar signs can be heard from miles in the distance regardless of a strong sense of smell and an appetite for fear and endangerment. Even still, drag me to the king and I will not look him in the eye, tears to fall as he explains the fate of women and our contested embodiment.

Empower these stone angels, anarchist dictionaries to read alone, steam to cover up your debts, foggy weather to desert storm, as we surrender to a mass collective- No more. We shall stagger to the ground and lift up our spirits to an unknown and monolith source, back to the feeding trough to start again from ashes and acid rainfall. In the jungle, no one has a name.

Today however, the place is of your calling power into a being of nature, a radical pathway from base to mountain, a train leaves the station at half past five without its conductor or any destination. Spark out loud and feel the need to move, to stir around with other pentagrams and postulates. We dine together in the seeds of hell, and tonight we drink the blood of earth, liquor for the gods and animals that transform us. Alchemy reigns the nightfall. 
- Megan 

The Queer Couple goes down the rabbit hole.... Welcome to the Tea Party. (Poetry)

This channaler transvestite/transgender person comes to you from Tom Waits underground:
I call all bar drinkers, dancers in the dark, poets leaning on wallstreets and alleyways,
musicians in New Orleans, you voodoo spirituals, Sex Magic.
I take you through our journey we had one night in the tempest,
the storms and teeth biting.
We commune together tonight to invest a little time in queering gender
in one person, we meet together in these crevasses in the underworld,
feminine and masculine in one, ice and fire in one, light and dark in one person.
I live in the present, a phoenix rebirth from ashes, I come to my senses.
I feel the shadows searching for light,
energy throbs deep inside me wanting u to drink it out of me, at first,
and then burst, in flashes of glory and vibrant bolts.

Eyes are open and the fountain draws near and we drink to health and happiness,
culture and dissonance from that culture, years lived and moments in the present we press ever onward.
We want to share with each other, something intimate- more than just life itself, but kinship and respect,
pulse with furies passion,
tears of divinity
and closeness are shared between two people
and there was glory all around.