Morning breaks in the red ruddy flames of Dawn’s plumb and blush … sleepless bedlam born have I been with wine stung eyes masked in anticipation … anxious tears wear the dancing crone’s stem in ritual cascades beneath a mighty thundering gather … my skirts are yellow as Rudbeckiah’s petals with cornflower ruffles, polka dotted and gingham in the manner the Phoebe sings … its own joyful soul liquid in trills and moss maiden purposes … It is in his love’s bower my heart keeps spry, wise, and sunrise surprised at what news the blue skink shall bring to window pane … poem and uttered palette knife collage travels through ions on spider web silk succor and chalk painted prayers … beetle dung orb anchored celestial illuminations affixed to his canvas slipping wormhole wobbles with the ancient excrement of all peoples in One skin … this is his Spirit’s time clock and rip cord flying squirrel sun dial, where it’s always the moment of Now … of his most precious choosing … My gladness buds from the rust of city rail and rain gutter drain remains from lord less fools who disdain such beautiful veins … cat whisker chin tickling garden gains thrive where color cast Babbit grains and the granite Adam roams the maze … ever a seeker of a finer faire cause rosy sway … tis noble I say … a cause I sink satin and sword alike in to stay a course worthy of Inanna’s grace … for I love him as soul’s first felt lace in the darkness when reaching towards Light … auric circumference of Luna’s bright shadow … I, ever bitten, brave, and bare throated in happy bondage to love’s priceless surrender.
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Mary in a Roman Catholic Church in Chicago
I had forgotten what it feels like to breathe … taking in lungfuls I could claim as my own … for the moments we had held them … the utter thoughtless exchange, otherwise now a dwelling stay … I’ve been giving it away so long … to anyone who will take it … or was it to anyone who would let me have a dram … does it matter what caused the stain when a cancer is the day’s remains ? … he said he saw all my pain in the betrayal of my soul’s window panes … suffocated lambs behind them lain in poultry rows for counting games … shims and shacks, shake and shame … the balance of the blade became soft once I realized … air left volume to perception’s choice … to the dreaming city sinking sea bound at the break of a new eon … terrible in the white blaze it wrought before us … we held cirrus clouds in our cheeks just then, inverted O~ring memories … praying to undertake the glorified transfiguration and not become their Holy wafer … but the vapor, each breathe seeks to pass across in death.
© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved June 11, 2015
The peacock’s latch and key feather frames of the boundless Benoit Mandelbrot refraction within the eyes of our most ancient antecedents … splay meringue spread fully fan … an altar ripe reason to carry him vestibule varied to the temple … upon thrones of Rose of Jericho come from foreign deserts to blossom in privileged honor … their fern frond palms out stretched and moist with the duty of their birth … the children are gone now who had come plant blessings … frond to tiny button finger tipped palm and prayer pressed as messengers of The Light … it is with this blessed assurance the footmen arrive to carriage the Lord home again , “Light as a feather and stiff as a board ” … they move the sand thrones of deserted time … his tail of a thousand eyes following behind to ward and wary a protective parade … against all spiritual poisons of those who desire to merely fest on the flesh and deem pot block the sins of others … boiling their intestinal fortitude into cloyed purple confections pate for their supper … hearts can beat without bowels and skin as well … suck the marrow of our roasted bones, cheese the brains as you care, to our sorrows swim in the blood of pools you gathered when slain the strutting Self you dared … the colors you scent all in your sighted worlds, your pox blankets and whiskey, your lands and treaties … we are like the peafowl we carry our colors within … do as you will, you can, you may, and you choose … the farther you tear at us the more light you shall find … shrouded in Crone and Warrior, Wisdom and Hag, Father and Mother, Grandmother and Elder … pink and wanting, brought and borrowed, Mother moon spun spelled … All Goddess granted, bright or shelled … your ultimate gift must always be, the part of you She entails.
July 11, 2016 2:30 am
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Button clad agaric caution hosts the greenest compliments the mosses know to braille brush the aspen’s whispers … with surest harmony found beneath the courageous first ice to die in Spring’s frail hands … the steam of your tea pot, bath, and clinging window vapors … The forest path urged me to gain all I could from the shadows and stem of tree tailored light … I nodded not wanting to break your silence.
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I used to come to the altar of offerings to bleed for you in single strands of my diluted blue blood punctuated elixirs … finery frost and the web of maidenhair remembrances written on winds which slumbered while my heart made ready only that which would serve thee … love was their carriage master … It was in the winter nights I wandered ice ghost stone shell of a lover left in me … East my feet blue as the vein untapped would creep … to your window panes and brittle break upon their fragile pain as toe dance I would to see you pen … bay tea and herb, parchments and hound … yet, seldom was it you I found … so in love with the moon you were that she had your gaze, your lips, the touch of that which goes beyond what most can bear or bare … the pebbles I pelted upon our skull were never felt by your mortal core … all the same you turned and smiled right through me …
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Sweat wand hair triggers press the oil stain of guilt upon life’s innocent … in the scope’s glass the assassin’s eye synced to God’s pupil dilation … reacting only to the dark side of the moon these days … the remainder of the time seeking the light of the angel’s looms … weaving man’s additional moments based on when Leonard Peltier dreams of making love …
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