Erotic Exorcism

Chewed through

with gnarling teeth

the strains of capital intake

for the wall street erections,

We, the supernatural ghosts and grand giants,

shaking and quaking

in holy pleasure

and connection to the

collective spirit,

stormed down upon

the idolized dollar

to tousle you awake

from your sleazy sleep

of conformity and comfort-

you hid from the visions of

the abused poor used for

sickening science experiments,

money making for the already

privileged rich bigots,

battered women

tortured swiftly out

of their natural beauty ecstasy,

put in barbed wire wicker baskets and

burned so as to hide

systematic oppressive patriarchies,

the prophetic

deemed pathological,

turned “sick” with

hyperbolized disorders,

quieted and subjugated

by anti-depressants,

choked and stuffed full of pills
to erase any notion

that diverged from mainstream media,

subtly quelling our jouissance

without a sound or shudder in the daytime

though I was woken from my dreams

to hear the screams of the dying

and the innocent betrayed

by the very people who had promised to protect them.

The few grisly lies repeated on our brainwaves,

protecting the top corporations

(now seen as people?

….

what bullshit)

keeping them safe and cozy

in their soaking blood money

that they munch on for breakfast,

our red veined pain

runs down their rosy cheeks

while they snicker

with hand shaking and

back-patting in coroner white-breasted suits,

at the mighty joke on the rest of us that

we let feed our

self-loathing

through the psychotic

television tubes,

breathing heavy

down our backs.

Tricks and trade

drowning out the voice

inside my head that

whispered echoes of

awakenings,

enlightened sex and

erotic understanding

of the puppet factory that is

selling apathy and violence

as means to enrichment.

I touched myself,

ever so delicately at first,

slowly stimulating my curves,

then relaxed into bliss states,

to fucking hard and fast,

fingers soaked,

orgasming out the demons

of the past,

punitive damages deterred

due to “too busy” corporate meetings

in the belly of the underworld,

car crashes on

mountain peaks

without lifelines,

moaning out my

mourning for the

agony I saw scribbled across

your face as you

lost yourself in

self-induced chaos

instead of choosing

kundalini rapture,

angels with wings that

they didn’t seem to

realize they had,

to fly away from

the glorification of drama,

raping our young to sex slavery

and the mechanical porn industry

that taught to take now 

and ask later.

I wouldn’t be the

mouth-taped shut girl anymore,

rocking back and forth

in the mire of your

sickened periphery.

I was not here

to entertain you,

but to take your hand,

along with my heavy heart,

up and out of the quicksand

and drive us home,

away from the aggressive environment

and the toxic consequences of the world

of the “real”

which was really just one of many storylines

to choose from.

Slow down sex eyes,

breathe deep and down to

your pelvic thrusts,

I shall enter you at

the base of the spine,

raise up your back

to your supple neck,

cuddling your broken bones

in my empathy,

soak you in sultry sighs

of intuition,

throbbing energy

under your waking skin,

fitting nice and cozy in your

fancy bloodstream,

riot and raunchy ricochets

to cursive tones,

didactic vibrations

that pulsed to the stars

and back,

sinking deep into

your wounded ground,

lifting you up to the

astral sphere with

delight and coming spirits,

together changing the

polluted earth with our

sensual whispers,

back to the flowering forests

and flowing clear waters,

silky marshes,

radiant unashamed passions,

beaming and blooming forth

to the moon,

erotic exorcism

until every cell in your body

ejects light. 

Play.

Where's my fucking pen?
Struck by a hurricane tornado,
blood from the sky,
misfits become
Dante's suicide trees,
white cedar,
sharp blade to the skin
as the leaves fall in autumn
and the bark rips away
from the trunk
screaming,
begging for mercy.

I weep for you
rebel rolling drug dealers
with the mist in your eyes
that tries to hide your self-loathing
due to abuse over the years,
the Father hits her over and over,
you watch,
and it breaks your soul into pieces.
I hear those hounds
haunting you in the darkness.

It festers me so
to see the sorrow
drift in and out
of your eyes,
like sipping hot coffee,
it burns all the way down
your spine.
We can make each other better,
angels falling,
seraphim luring me
to the cross,
we land on the rocks,
and the lighthouse
dims with a wink and simple
twist of euphoria.

The torture of our women
in better homes and gardens,
we stay silent,
until all the light
is drained from their soft sad bodies,
sick humiliation
of half our generation.
Though in suddenly waking,
you realize that if one aches,
we all drip blood,
just a little even.

Connection is the door
to freedom and sexual divinity,
but,
you already know that,
deep down.

Violins were the start of the resistance.

Violins were the start of the resistance. Though macabre, we sat in a circle and thumped the beast out together so as to not forget the reasons for being here in the first place. Tom Waits and Alice sit aloft the tower, heads down with crooked necks they keep the time running on its heels. Covet the circumstances in which clothes were exchanged and identities lost in the awake hours, drenched in the sun through the window though we pain for eternity to last a lifetime.

Battered women and sacred Egyptian goddesses are harvested for their weaponry and rescue profits: the government smiles while you turn your back to see the sun set on the third day.

Walls harbor us no safety, we stand naked and wishful thinking want for peace and silence to gather our wits and nash our teeth through the flesh and chains that hold us here. December brings a frostbite that lies to the neighbors long enough for us to continue on our backs towards river track through the forest.

Mob monsters rape the children of the fortunetellers, gypsies gave way to vampire earrings and eyes that will melt the monster out of you- swimming toxic flattery and forgivable misfits come to the surface and stare me in the mouth.

What was the willow sleeping in when the guards came to arrest him, weeping in the night we walk with you to the cross and crop circles spread across land and sea alike and are akin to melodies dripping out of tongues, licking their way through chaos terminals and viscous serpents bite the desert dust, a sign of reverence and dispute amongst themselves and their court jesters.

I saw the razor to the wrist give in with a sigh and I lifted up the girl from the mud to find wings wrapped around her, keeping her safe from the fates of the men from centuries past to be awake again anytime and soon to preach out the same stanzas over and through the mists of Avalon.

I dance the harlequin to sleep and mystic perfumes lead us astray from the poison pit that was meant to give us back to life once again, so we heard and believed. Following a leader can be just as hard as trecking a path of your own making- culture is unkind. Thus resistance was imperative to the transfusion of light into red darkness and back again.

Hearts never hurt less, every blow was a hit in the head by the ferris wheel that came toppling down on innocent bystanders and the mythos of detox heroin computer programming. Give the serpent a wink and he usually keeps your secrets for you, at least until you’ve forgotten what you have told whom and where.

Serial killers pulse to a different racked torrent than other bees droning on to find their masters’ house empty and the family dead, caught whilst eating dinner and the apple pie burned in the oven. The world caught on a pinwheel of dissonance and scare tactics, and we welcoming in every new age with still hope for the future, somehow.

Barbie dolls walking around and standing on streetlights asking for change, for sex favors and money tips on the newest fashion markets that came from the western and east north regions of someone else’s hemisphere.

I asked the queen, just this once, for relief and got a mouthful of chalk instead. Head to the ground, we dig our ways and ins and outs, through the brimstone and water lilies, past the weeping willows and the cats sitting in their perches. Under water and through the fires that lead to nothing, we persist and resist on—a magnet to the earth, we are.

Keeping step with our ancestors is a learned cause and now to mock out loud the past insects and feeble tongues of ages Cancer and Capricorn (or so I heard from a transvestite with a whooping cough disease). Stand and be alone altogether and learn to topple the jabberwocky by one’s self, adapt now to take on the chess game and set of a lifetime of learning and patience. Caught in the shape of an eye, wink and take flight.