Mirror

Frankly madam,

I don’t recognize

that drained beast

heaving grief soaked breaths

into the mirror.

Cant you see her?

Was I the only one

now to witness the pain

flit across my bloody ears?

She twitches and

stutters,

looks through your eyes

down to your mouth

and into your throat.

She knows you then

and stays there

because she had no other home

to hide in,

no cave dark and safe enough

to thrust her naked body into

and sigh relief.

Shes everywhere now,

whispering across the faces

of my fellow elders

who have seen hell,

mirror,

mirror,

all over you wander,

and I weep

The Mystic Moans

Chains, strains, and

drizzling drains

followed me home

after the earthquake

that hit hard on the 17^th floor

like a faucet gushing heat,

making tea

on a Sunday morning,

while dad was sobbing

into his shirt sleeves.

My body still

aches and shakes

in the wreckage,

ever left behind

with the ghosts still

moaning low,

keeping time

with the moon

and making love to

the mystic mayhem

that shook the rafters,

as I performed my magic

under the stalking eye

of the raven.

You were floating

away from me,

regardless of

my resonating howls,

even my vibrating prayers

betrayed me and

refused to sink into your skull,

melt pains away,

take us back to the days

when I crushed,

with mortar and pestle,

clover, flower petals, and grain,

that I had picked

in the forests of Michigan,

and the swing set erotica sleep

lulling me into deep dream states,

visions that made me scream out

when the sun set

and the dark took over,

settling in my eardrums,

humming venom

and prophecy.

The Witching Moon's Eye

The witching moon’s eye

opened inside my brain,

shivered in the cold,

dark,

breeze

that flit through my ears,

forging deep into my swollen head,

the eye blinked and shook the dust

off her glossy wings.

Now awake,

I cannot wriggle free

from the visions,

or escape the skulls

lining the sidewalks,

howling for their bodies

that no one seemed

to crave to find.

The golden locks girl

applies her make-up

in the taunting mirror,

paints her face on

to look like all the others

that are lifted up before her

as the examples to be acceptable pretty,

slips neatly into

size zero jeans,

still hating herself for

what she perceives as being fat.

Halter top beauty queens,

finding faults and flaws

in every looking glass

propped up in front of her

and behind,

because this sadistic torture society

wants to teach you

that you always lack,

you are never enough just to be you,

so you will buy more products

to fill the aching void,

as if material could ever quell the lonely.

Silly girl could never be worthy of love and light

until the souls been

sucked out by the consumer system:

plastic dead doll Barbie:

the epitome of the perfected teased tight woman,

strangled in the American dream-

a child’s toy that

will gladly and with great apology

for any inconvenience to the master,

fit itself into the plastic coffined box,

keep its mouth tapped shut,

staple holes where

the eyes of the goddess used to be.

I saw the women around me

chugging diet pills like breath mints,

washing them down with tequila shots,

no lunch or dinner thanks,

laughing at rape jokes

so as not to upset the status quo,

hissing venom at each other,

tearing other women down

to boost their glamour shots

and perceived righteous ratings

for the likes of the porno-minded men

who really just wanted

women who looked like little girls,

for us to beg to be bruised

and broken into tiny pieces

that could be hanged on the mantelpiece

of power lust, greed, and patriarchy.

Fuck the hell hounded media,

the scoffs at any fragment of individuality,

demonizing cures for anxiety and cancer,

heaven forbid a sense of self-worth,

idolizing violence,

rape and pillage tactics,

concrete aggressive erections,

faked orgasms to boost pathetic egos,

submissive whispers of women

so as to not disrupt male dominance.

Instead we must enact our luscious,

loud erotic beings,

tearing down the cannibal structures

of wall street,

screeching lusty odes

to awaken our

fellow artists and empaths,

gentle sisters and brothers alike,

marching hand entwined with hand,

to cast out our sick oppressors.

Our time is now,

to writhe open our throbbing pulses

and rise

ghosts from their walking graves,

vampires from their tainted mausoleums,

witches curving and swaying upward

from their burned ashes,

lovers and prophets

thrusting forward,

shouting,

demanding,

the fall of the

capital consumption empire.

Just breathe and know

that you are electric elegance

wrapped up in an angel,

you don’t need their chemical produce

and liquored fantasy bullshit.

You are loverly and exquisite

just as you are. 

Drinking in Pleasure and Headaches

And through the

tethered and tattered

noise,

your voice cut

the mayhem

like a shark bite.

The raven wrestled

to the ground,

wings pinned behind

her tortured neck,

she calls the crows down

from the swaying rafters

to aid in the quest

for western reproduction of

old north magic,

witches stirring their icy hot cauldrons,

humming odes of Isis

and that poor and plagued Persephone,

speaking words in

ancient slippery tongues,

languages long forgotten

in the panic strangled path

to fame and fortune-

hunting down the saints

with steal arrows spitting fire.

Though I know you

fucking heard me

in my lonely prophecy,

it seemed once the

words spilled

thirst on the page,

you picked up your own spite and

silly stolen syntax,

playing marbles

with easy monsters,

chugging liquored journeys

down your tasty throat,

left me

empty cans with oily fingerprints,

selling garbage at garage sales,

scissors stings,

raped muses,

eloquent slurrings of

my passion,

yet,

just enough sneaky lust

to keep my syrup skin bleeding,

I envisioned angels,

perceiving tantric music and pleasure mixing with

open wounds,

in the astral realms,

blisters and bumped heads

on the tall buildings that

fell from that wicked heaven,

faked well but I could always tell,

skies of pies that

shone bright with

glossy finish,

tasted like

seizure meds and Drano.

Masquerade masks

even needed moments alone

to wipe their tears

and drowned sighs from acting happy

in front of crowds,

applauding in delight,

but spitting on our shoelaces

as we came down

the sparkling stairs,

illusion of glam and glitz,

we paid dearly,

Marilyn Monroe with her

sex appeal and sad honest eyes,

signs of the agony cross and

captivity wasn’t worth it

to those poor and pitiful

phoenix girls,

suffocated in their own ashes

with no hope of

re-birth and

speaking their minds,

sputtering truths

before giving up breathing

at young ages.

Oh the nightmares

as of late,

raining down on

my erotic zones,

waking me up in

the middle of twilights

with shrill screams,

sirens blazing,

drugs and dying,

my father lost before

the war on cancer

came to my house,

banging anger and

frothing mouths

on the back door

even with porch lighting

and twinkling stars.

And you dared to

come to me with

quick fixes,

tornado warnings

when you didn’t know

that time passed through

the camels stubborn eye and

needles pinch the

wrathful skin.

You never saw the

sick children,

throwing up in bright hallways

covered with murals

of the outside world

they never got the chance to see,

ponies prancing and

taking tea with tiaras

and disney princess cups full

of sugar and chemicals.

There was no easy answer,

how dare you insinuate

my lack of care

with smirks of condescension.

I saw it all,

too much tapped in

to voices in my skull,

for my own sanity

was lost in the river

that rode you safely

to the ocean,

drinking in your pleasure

without a word spoken

between us.