Showing posts with label spiritual awakenings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spiritual awakenings. Show all posts

I Knelt Down


I knelt down
in reverence
to the river,
tender kisses
on the curves
of her
ebbs and flows.

It was heartbreaking though,
to watch
bodies and spirits,
beat out
our own traumas
on each other’s bones,
patterns repeating
their virus glitches,
malicious verbage
and cruel bloodied marks,
profane hypocrites
reciting sacred odes
yet spitting sadistic
eulogies during
birthing rites.
Gasp.
Panic.
Couldn’t bare the sight of it,
no honey, Im sorry but Ive just already
wept so much today.

Mmm breath,
slow down now,
hush the rough,
halt the constant
proving of fancy fucking,
predictable games and
classes in cool
with their
tight-assed smiles,
sad-eyed
stupid smoker habits,
nodding heads at all the right shoes
and accessories,
laughing at bad jokes
that no one in the room even understands.

Instead my dear,
explore the sensuality
of each space
between single notes
in cut times
and quickened heartbeats,
pulses throbbing in sync,
soaking pussies,
erect nipples,
quick sighs,
sarcastic rhymes,
Kama Sutra salutations,
in graveyards,
over mountaintops,
between soft thighs,
lips supple and
waiting,
give rest
and sanctuary from the
world’s harsh turnings,
violent lashings out
of power
lust media
rapes,
wrath iron
goblets,
suckled pigs
of state and gold.
Enough.
They cease to rule
once you choose
to be free
of that drenched
machine
dripping poisoned
shaped nails,
greed faking happy,
lust faking love,
and oh how power means
fucking nothing but
a bad tagline wrapped in tinsel.

So I lifted up my
third eye high
and slept low
and in
heavy
pleasure
with the moon
moaning ecstasy
into the night,
then snuggled down deep
into the ocean,
re-learning to breathe.

Tempt Me


Tempt me
to rise,
thrusting towards heaven,
insight and orgasm,
heading us
ever upward and onto
cosmic pathways,
astral erotic planes,
neurosciences,
great schisms of breath and space,
between
the sacred thought
and the beloved tangled language,
gender binaries
slashed like tires
in the hot sun,
pleasure celebrated
instead of pathologized,
vilified masked dolls
in their prison cells
which are, of course,
cleverly disguised
as free thought,
with the help of
the sadistic media and pills
spewing toxins.

Disease weeping,
I tried to find
words of comfort
for those poor befallen
merry-go-rounds
and painted horses,
sad boys and
their clinking glasses,
ice and pure kink,
fucking so deep,
he was cuming up
through the brain,
out of the third eyes
of the prophetic,
then birthing transcendence,
holding your
ravaged mind
in my womb,
safety for a second,
before exorcizing
you back out,
through your mouth,
bones to the street,
down the overgrown dirt path,
to the stream
and into the river. 

Lay Me Down Deep

Shiva woke me from my sickly slumber.
I asked him to repeat himself
because I was half-dreaming
of hats and other frisky filthy things
when he first stormed into the room
and spoke.

"I call you back to awakening."
My eyes, once again,
open and succumb to the
Magic that surrounds
and runs through me.

Take me home,
lay me down in shadows,
kiss me like you
mean it,
breath and myth,
chaos and hydra,
carry me with you
to the labryth and leave me there.

I won't mind to shed a tear and
learn something "simple",
like letting go of dogma
and danger complexes,
fear is foreign folly
and must be unlearned.

Darkness overcame me,
car wrecks and flashbacks,
scavenger hunts for that
poor little girl,
who was found dead in the morning,
stuck in the river Styx,
the bow on her head,
bobbing with the tide.
8 ball in the far left pocket,
whiskey sours after long days
at the office.
Standing in the mist,
smoking an entire pack of cigarettes,
waiting for something-
anything,
to drag you to your feet.

Welcome to the 9th House of the Blues,
Your awakening
is coming for you soon,
with a sexual shudder
and a smile of relief.

Blackbird

Mister Blackbird,
believing he's a Phoenix,
performs Hari-Kari
in the shadow
that the moon makes on the earth.
I dance in his ashes
with my voodoo dolls
and lack of morality
as formally declared by The State.

War crimes,
suicide hotlines,
C.S. Lewis prays
to a fatherless God
and his friends
pretend not to notice.

The "Mary Me" mythos
takes another life and
I wake up in a bathtub
holding an empty bottle of
Russian vodka-
a pyramid tatooed to my forehead
and without a fucking clue
as to how I got there.