February blew through like a dust storm blindingly hot, chaotic, and brief. There are pieces of it in every crevice in my body and buried deep in the roots of my hair and teeth. Excavating my remains from the sudden dry blaze of February is not an option, we have become one red bare plane as far as the eye can see. As the night lays cooly across my temples I can feel my heart rattling in my rib cage like wind through the bones of hollowed out trees bleached white in the sun. Fear abates as stillness of night falls in the badlands. It takes a sturdy kind of folk to navigate this arid soil. I’ve been blessed with many who have receive my rough and raspy heart with boundless love and affection that nourishes my tired dusty soul. Road worn I’ve seen better days. Tireless heat and relentless wind have all but scorched me into the earth. In times of crisis survival is the main focus, when shadows are long and time short. Buried waist deep in the parched dunes time seems to hang frozen in the crystal clear night, but just above all the toil in the inky black there is an infinite sea of stars, that is just waiting to be wished upon.
“If this love is only fleeting” she laughed “then I want to immortalize this feeling”!
Sucking the sticky ripe juices off of her fingers she dangled her heart precariously between her thighs on a white gold chain.
Useless metaphorical organ. What care had she for sentimental affliction when there was such lust for life to tangle with?
“I must be careful how I immortalize you though” she whispered, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Build The Beloved into a shrine and surely end by sacrificing myself on the alter”.
As she reminisced plucking the edge of the sacrificial blade sumptuously a cool breeze collected at her feet.
The reckless recluse lay helpless and bare in the hot summers eve. Afraid to move lest she accidentally squeeze him to death under her heavy eyelids.
She lapped up his harsh sincerity lavishly while her gold scales unfurled her longing one drop at a time.
They lay together thus ensnared in unending midnight as a snake who swallows her own tale. Bewitched by love eternal; the self sacrificing goddess.
Let me be your whipping boy.And elevate your pain.
Too few people can accurately grasp how meaningless they are.
Opting either for the Grandeur or the obsolete, laying their lives at the feet
Of mass uninterest and disillusion.
I am but a simple child
Prepared to take your beating
Place your pain and persecution on my tender flesh
Give me a reason to keep on going
I keep cutting my finger in the exact same place
As if in a futile attempt to bring awareness into my finger tips
Each time the searing pain commands my focus to this forgotten bit of flesh
It slides back just as easily to the darkness behind my unarticulated thoughts
Lost deep beyond comprehension I bleed
Think of the power I would command
If I could only remember where my finger begins and ends
I dreamt that I carried your body to the day bed all dressed in white. You who had always been so much more grounded, muscular, steadfast. In my arms so fragile and warm. You gave me the key to the door so tiny I could barely pinch it between two fingers. As you seemed to disappear under the piles of blankets I was scared. Scared that I would loose you and all you meant to me. Scared that no one would notice. That it would happen with my help or not. In the dark of a burnt out streetlight I cried for you. As the tears came flowing more quickly fear transformed into dread. A ceremony of unknowable darkness was about to begin, I was being beckoned for it. The air was thick with anticipation as she led me away into the darkness. Calling my name, but never directly looking at me. In a cabin in the woods far, far away from possible help she met me to play a game. Fate hung in the air, tight around my throat, as my eyes struggled to see in the darkness. If I could only win for you, but I knew this was a game of no winning. She left me alone in the dark to choose my fate. Even in this cold expectant darkness sticking to my teeth I fought my consciousness. Crying “no, no, no, no, no, no, no” while I rocked myself into existence under too many covers sweating from exertion. Mind finally awake, but sure I had set into motion the awful game and we all would surely die.
These spiritual window-shoppers, who idly ask, ‘How much is that?’ Oh, I’m just looking.
They handle a hundred items and put them down,
shadows with no capital.
What is spent is love and two eyes wet with weeping.
But these walk into a shop,
and their whole lives pass suddenly in that moment,
in that shop.
Where did you go? “Nowhere.”
What did you have to eat? “Nothing much.”
Even if you don’t know what you want,
buy _something,_ to be part of the exchanging flow.
Start a huge, foolish project,
It makes absolutely no difference
what people think of you.