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lunarfae714 · 6 years

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winter into spring, river into sea

bloodmoon.

leo moon & bloody Sun.

massive ocean waves this morn~

eye keep adoring solitude, So much alive in the plant & animal spirits, Water & wind spirits, Messages through vision & dreams, dreams are forever films always in process, constant climax

The past moons the happy belly Craves simplicitea~ Lots of laughter, Lots of release.

Was moving too fast, split open the sole on lava rock, Slow return to self,

& Words come from the ground, through the sole, the throat, Into the air~ Sweet melodies Sadness transmuting~

the grounding I long for sprouts in a seed.

In-vision & it comes. Clarity & discernment

A few moons ago, returning to island, happiness measured with the nightly star show in the sky, or the amount of time that passed without having to wear clothes, the fact there’s durian around, the moments in the middle of the ocean, remembering where I am, full of surrender & gratitude .

Lavarockchaos & calm in the storm, Soft wood atop Strong waves

wake up &

realize the dream

✨ You know what to do.

***

You are Perfect

as you are. we are not raised to believe this we are not raised as we were. when we slept & spent each moment with the earth

We can rekindle The love affair if we care 🍂 You are perfect

***

equinox.

re-birth~cycle for the laundry of the soul ~ Spring pilgrimage to the heat~ Letting the earth eat the patterns of my blackhole mind for breakfast. She can take it all. Strong & Hot gut, Her core, the original apple.

Spirit doesnt give us what we cannot handle.

Spring cleaning Kali-fueled Love-fueled Torus of the earth re-volves. I learned a Haudenosaunee word awoken from night dream::

Ondinnonk, twofold~ a ((dreamtime-inspired)) desire from the soul, & the part of our Spirit that longs for doing good.

i want to stay with that. speak Openly of our desires, of our nightdreams & visions, Actual-eyes. the heart knows when we’re doing what it came here to do, However unnoticed, Unique & United~ the sweet inner-marriage of Intuition & Passion.

even in the shitshows the poop is our greatest teacher of transforming life.

***

part-time-gigs.

some days i just

juice citrus for hours

for petty cash

in old hawaiian towns,

folks double-take

when they hear the loud trap music

& see me,

alone in commercial kitchens.

alone i can sing songs,

cry a lot,

love a lot.

a simple return

to simplicity

that’s enough

in a time of information overload

how do you measure

what is enough?

***

fingers & senses,

finger the senses

cashew with my hands

ill cashew with my hands

my fingers

finger

endless

orange

orange that pentrates.

sun, set

sure, bert

mouths

soft orange

ball dance, clouds like

smokerings, sky like

sweet things~

figure it out already.

***

Kahena Beach, April

softness &

wreckless

whispers from unseen~

melodies from nightdreams

hard grip on the spine~

churn the belly’s butter,

bake a cake of poor rhymes

soda bread

with currants & lies,

freckles & semen

see, men.

you can park your sailboat

on my lot of lava rock

he asked if i was a sailor

the only waters i navigate

are my own

wavy & reckless

wreck the necklace

til i find my home.

tribal songs back seasounds

what powers the mixture of your chest?

i want my beater

to stay on Low

slow & low.

i want to Love

the way the waves love sand

through highs & lows~

constant in touch,

unpredictable & consuming.

****

spirit of the water.

new moon lover.

touched

by returning to simplicity, listening to the elements, breastfeeding honesty & accepting the roll of the strong wave & all that it washes up to the surface .

So many tides.

So much ~acceleration ~ for us to do what we came here to do~ drop the excess.

I enjoy disconnection-- more connected, so I can keep undressing what my Soul Has to offer

in the Flesh. Raw Sensual & Pure.

***

new year.

Goodnight Moon.

Cancer Moon. Heavy feeling~Moon. We ride this massive canoe down the River of our collective watery soul. Please can we hold one another & remember the roots under our soles stem from the same soil? though the branches that are our bodies, our skins wrap fleshy meatsacks, unwind in all directions, towards the sun or snow. they dance their dances, still we feel each other so strong.

Lettuce remember & honor each other, all that’s alive, all that’s dying, all that’s being born.

This Moon my heart vibrates strong, eyes gift me with currents so current. Oh sweetness & sorrow, oh why we do what we do.

eye have trickles from my throat & paintings from my eyes, from the last Moon, like always. sleeping in places where I can watch the moon rise & fall as I dream.

***

samhain mantra

for all the living and dead

keep tradition alive

honor the goodness

in what is evolving.

honor the darkness

in what is evolving

we were born to tell the stories

we give birth to continue the stories

the sadness, too,

is so beautifully real.

***

climbing capricorn mountain.

soulstice

throat, hands, lands, belly.

feels stirred from the way words are placed so precise & dear can hold a soul like a deep nourishing cuddle tickling your intestines.

overwhelmed by Joy in my heart when wearing Love's lenses. Here's a photo

What are you bound by?

is it in your head in your bed do you like it do you dread ?

is dr seuss around?

you flying or rollin on the ground?

what cobwebs spin

under the skins we are in?

***

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lunarfae714 · 7 years

Text

scandinavian meltdowns

June.

water falls water falls i am water falling calling my veins collect-called the Mouth of it all. She swallows you in one gulp, drops you at the bus station of the belly of the Source, er, Socrerer... so sore i am mostly water so many trees diseased so many holes in the earth to burrow into im more at home alone in a cemetery than in the concrete ratmaze. two dead stars collided this week like ghosts making Love accidentally. genitalia creation station their bus stop in the sky. they made a black hole baby. now there's a black hole hole, tell. i want to lay my head at the black hole hotel tonight & see what Happens. *** 6.29 love and laundry. clowning. the wheel keeps going & going & going as strong as ever what does it mean to mean what does it mean to surrender under ender ether whether or not i am filled with kindness for me for you when i am filled i can give some away of my insides they taste like marmalade a marmalade grenade i am in love with the Sun with living~truly Living with tongue in the mouth in your mouth undressing your mask of fear for fear is really just an ear with a big F before. like the rest of us~ were all just here cause the big F before us. ** someone today said i am always so happy they haven't seen the other half.

***

Autumn Longings.

lingonberries & mushrooms & stone walls & cellars. A corner of my heart dozes in Appalachia, Cakalacky & yearns to wake up. A corner of my heart is fully awake with sweet honey of rawplay. Got a suitcase of the feels~feels for adventures & movement,

a longing & Thirst for newness of

mountains & waters,because not full within? greater, more, expansion. (Process the madness.)

To return to the Wild West shotgun backwoods country,

soak my skin in sulphur springs,

make the autumnal pilgrimage to mama Shasta,

allow my bare feet to dance with the mud of new trails,

let my fingers dance along instruments & my voice meet the duet of my traveling comrade

pilgrimage to proper bluegrass & jam bands,

mending the heart, through the ears, through the body

Travel with thumb or van, cook fancy & foraged meals over fires,

never sure where to rest the head, but always finding a place a dance of sitting & movement.

Mouth full of new moon,

shine Head full of berries, & whine

Heart full of longing

Eyes full of rainsong

My heart to yearns for Appalachia,

frog lullabies

folk & fae

wise women & the north-flowing river

waterfalls greater than mine,

rhododendron like taurists

dreaming,

dream

dream carry me to the pictures in my head

let my tongue taste it all.

A movement and thirst within

when the peace & complete stillness inside wants to dance around

The longing remains. letting the voice inside

My head travel too

they always tell me You Are not alone

Yet I don't see anyone around

except the eyes of jaguar

When I close mine.

Alone not lonely not alone not lonely.

I paint pretty pictures in the head environmental junky

romantic sizing story

like the time I bloodlet on top of a hidden pyramid,

full moon in Cancer, winter Solstice

made Love with a man with paws on his arms

Lies from his mouth

married semen & moonblood

Like a cocktail,Stirred,

just for the ritual

it seemed important to Let winter inside me in

The heat of the Mayan jungle

while a symphony of howler monkeys

they also howl just because.

The more I fall in lovewith a place

Person, plant, or mineral,& walk away,

The more the space IN betweenUsThe nostalgia

Becomes sweet on the tongue

something sexy about Impermanace

you can't hold onto, eye

question authenticity.

when you don't stay with something long enough does it stay dreamy? or does the dream get better bigger change beautiful choking growing glowing,

does it even matter at all?

what speaks louder, the mind or the belly?

Grateful for the playground

Of dust & wood

Dance & veggies

Wheelbarrows & hedgehogs

Pranks & exploring

Fires & silly songs

Elderflower & berries

Mushrooms & ropeplay

Mazes & firewalk

Sweet playground of anything & everything & nothing at all.

The feels.

***

Boston Mourning, 10.20.

Eye sit with blue ink & bamboo in warm Sun my spirit has longed for~ in a town of concrete, concrete painted Red with revolution. what Revolves?

eye feel the beating heart of Chinatown, eye feel vitality behind all feet dancing along the earth revolution orchestra.

Red hat woman behind me paints human eyes on rainbow wall, so many eyes, many recycled stories unseen. sitting with sadness & suffering Trusting it makes us us, makes us whole, makes us revolve as our skins wear & take off the clothes of our own cycles.

perfect symmetree leaf dances down my head now as an offering, neon yellow, as it falls.

***

raspberry turnover days, flakiness in my decisions, sweet and bitter in the heart. nothing is too great to be forgiven.

how do you observe the stories that seep from your mind & your month, & soak in the dirt beneath your soles?

***

Sailing.

after a night & wave of Low's lows, with a mind trapped in dark hallways, & an arrow in the sternum, eye rode with thighs coiled around cold metal bars on the bow. Not stuck~still~riding the waves, one with water, the soft marriage of wind & water, mind & feeling, like cycles of fizz. A load in motion, a wonder, to feel the feels & not get swept away in the washing machine of the soul: thank you, Father air for your breath like frigid hands that slap my face, hold my watery ways. We dance together in solid nothings. Low's lows paint my six sailing swords.

***

September Mushrooms.

smoke & mist & barns & things. when the fog lifts & Father Sky blows morning cheekkisses of cool air, the mycelium surfaces from the dirt of everything. the soiled soil of all avoided~the sweetness & the sickness, the sour, arises after tears to lick or not lick ? we bring to the surface mindless habits ooze from the ground ing & we jumped out windows this week at least the late summer sunflowers stand tall to kiss the moon goodnight, the moon tonight that moves from mercurys mind to watery river, moving water. We stand in the river because all is changing & we choose where we stand in the impermanence we can stay grounded, standing among mycelium guides

***

Summer Soulstice. at the time when the sun never set soul-stice the sun moved to cancer the water rises from the dirt sunshine eyes move from i think to i feel. a lover left today & the sun never stopped shining. lion day yamyub with colorful strangers sounds like a lunch special curiosity dances with play i walked to the bare rocks word vomit amid long walks~ not much sleeping these days, daydreams strong along new paths, new waters. midsummer is coming-- in the night sun we roll giant rusty wheel across the field to the pole it strikes rhubarb patches & yurts. bowling. draw the medicine wheel in everything, & remember the words of your grandmother from the north, where father Wind blows coldness into people. magic spells, casual my dad, jar jar binks & i heat the boiler run in circles round the berriesclimb up & down ladders to make board games real. pee in each others mouths for kicks make up stories that make us laugh in ways i haven't. not holding back nice to practice screaming & touching in silly ways.watch dad & his many lovers watch dad as everyone asks him to fix things. falling into dream in an old army tent like a hut set the canvas on fire one nightdad was too busy fixing other peoples’ things.reindeer fur burning strong.dad has more trinkets than ill know. falling into dream together because i wanted to watch the fire dance before i dreamt. in a playground of exploration emotion acceptance release scream, cry, lick, fuck, be, see every living thing as a reflection a microcosm embrace the impermance the challenge to remain stable within. **

august

still in Scandinavia, aching for Father Sun's hot kiss on the skin, feeling wavy-er then ever, riding waves like climbing mountains, honoring heart openings & embracing shenanigans. doing the vegetable dance for life.

PLAYground..

***

late June’s dreamy, cotton candy skies the eves, during the hour or so of darkness.

✨ Wild wind gods speak in the night, hot sun in the day finally, sporadic rainfall before hundreds of toes dance onto this space for a new festival. trash has been painted, repurposed gifts for Spirit, sweat has danced down my skin where ticks furrow, fiery logs have fallen from stoves awake from dreaming, love created in the medicine wheel of trees around the hammock, dice has been rolled, all my walls of belief~framework has been tumbling into chaos as bodies move with the wind of the moment.

mmmm the mouth is full of words like candy, songs as my roots open up, and mind full of visions that lead the way.

***

strawberry moon

June Moon of strawberries & primary colors freckled seeds, freckled skins freckles are stars on the body grab some ink & use my elbow, play some constellation tic-tac-toe. gentle moon sensual moon warm blood ripe fruit tall grass fast tongues.. June Moon full, the traveling philosopher whispers to me do. do. do. do. do. do. before the mind speaks first. *** Summer

scatter weather

changes each moment

leaves in my yoni

after a forest runereading

lets check folks’ bellybuttons

use that as currency

we grew from the bellybutton

is it our center?

law contract with Great Spirit;

we choose what we handle

we choose the Screenplay.

fire tending;

build up lincoln logs

iron rods on throats

bare your sole

kiss the embers

burn a fear or two.

whisper of the ways

the tradition of the Sun & the Moon

or, dark magic, the

circles on my palms

foresee great possibility.

organized virgo

yurt with a carpet

carpet on the grass

a ceiling of ropes

for getting choked, or

tied into a cobweb

prey for a monstrous spider,

on the rock of moss & ticks.

tonight,

start a fire

sang some songs

made some Love

dreamed some dreams.

dust in the mouth

dust in the eyes,

happy as ever.

we all want more Love.

the hedgehog comes in dreams

and in waking

under the bed

to tell us

silently

to take off our armor.

***

Late October Departure.. Reflections. Mirror Pond.

grateful for space for watery reflection~to move through feelings as scorpion piches us strong…there's a hue of heaviness across manialand now, with the storms & schemes, with One face calling the shots, amid the social/environmental raping so far from the natural, defining counteracting goodness & personal, local actions of earthwalking warriors to focus on.. Together honoring, protecting the Great Mother…

the last half year moved so quickly because time isn't linear & i felt so held in the space i was in witnessing & the laundry cycles that make me me. connected to YOU-expressions of the same PIZZA !!!!!

eyes with new vision:: towards the great mysteries they are SO FUNNY i want to roll around in dirt and rub it deep into the untouched corners my body . get ground-ed in the dirt of everything use my pain as natural gasoline to fill the vehicle of me & keep the traveler's wheels turning from the ground up to purple cosmos lets marry material & unseen, squares & triangles merge into WHEELS no right no wrong no judgment all paths roadmaps to appreciation station can we remain rooted among change or explode a little all is okay!

thank you, we cannot do this alone. paths of Love realizing the vision.There are so many ways we can live, more options available then we could ever dream

up.what do you dream UP?

***

May Medicine

the Wheel spins, all is changing each moment, expanding, contracting, being. All a process.

Everything comes from no-thing & to no-thing shall return. everything inside of us comes from the earth.

the four Great Paths~Wisdom & spirit in the North, Love & innocence in the South, Introspection in the West, Illumination in the East.

if the thunder don't get you then the lightning will. Walk in love. How can we change the lens of our situation to one of love?

***

Beltane Blessing.

the midpoint between spring & summer, when Father Sun & Mama Gaia light the fires of their passion on this wet & ready, windblown & wonderful Earth.

The rains cleansed our watery souls, the wind has swept away clutter in our minds so we're open & honest to our truths, ((honoring our unique creativity that lifts the universal body)), the Sun starts the fire & passion our bodies deeply know but minds often forget, & the Earth lets us ground~ barefeet become roots in the mud of everything.

Mmmm, go out & see the messages of Spring. What is fertile & alive? Make love in the forest. Tap in to the wisdom of the faeries around you. Speak sweetly to the plants in bloom, medicine to your spirit. Plant flowers & build a fire, let go & breathe in.

***

you are perfect as you are we are not raised to believe this we are not raised as we were when we slept & spent each moment with the earth We can rekindle The love affair if we care 🍂 You are perfect

***

these last are rupi kaur’s words:

do you have any idea how much of a miracle you are. how lovely it's been. and how lovely it will always be. i am kneeling before you. saying thank you. i am sending my love to your eyes. may they always see good in people. and may you always practice kindness. may we see each other as one. may we be nothing short of in love with everything the universe has to offer. and may we always stay grounded. rooted. our feet planted firmly onto the earth.

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lunarfae714 · 7 years

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Scotlandia

Northbound train :: Murmuration express

the farther north, the greener the fields the higher the hills, the sheep multiplied & birthed forests, creeks, rivers abundant the marriage of water & mud.

baby lambs so pure they don’t know the future of the earth blissed to be present among castles of stone in a strong magic realm where old ways & new come together as one.

the farther north you go, the nicer people become, joab told me. the more layers you wear, the more layers you shed.

wildflowers are the color of the sun.

waves of godsend in this country after the deep moon, after a bluebell magic spell, drawing the medicine circle with sticks among the nettle, let’s call our ancestors with our smartphones.

the men next to me on the train speak of the masculine, how the coin Gods reign, unknowing these gods & technology will soon disappear then what will you value?

Spirit in everything~ forgiveness in exhales in their plastic waterbottles & chewing the skin of dead animals someone else killed.

yet-we ride the same train, on this earth together we can all bring what we offer Give, not collect We all breathe, drink water eat & poop plants want Love & calmness these threads sew us in the blanket of the Earth we, weavers of great mother tend to get caught up in webs of illusion.

folks mirror the sheep herds in cities of normalcy & expectations Isolation in the mind Light needed most where the shadow of repression is heavy on the bricks. why did I travel halfway cross the earth to do sexual work in a grey place? do these thoughts hold anything? is Love enough? for all the ways that we can Love– undefined.

Folks don’t travel far from home here & i appreciate the localism. For how can an outsider ever grasp or judge what’s going on within? appropriation nation.

Be, receive, give, spiral, honor the mystery, challenge the mind, Witness patterns of colonization, Hippies go to cheap once-indigenous places now morphed by the capitalism they ran away from. What is belonging Or separation What is respectful What is Advaita?

***

5.28

zombies of Aberdeen.

aberdeen, where i involuntarily practice boundary work with a too-wide-eyed hairfree polski. ale drunk at the mutt pub.

in a place without sunset or sunrise, i dance on cement at the devils hour under turquoise Sky~ i watch as zombies fall into the bed of the street in the shadows of the streetlamps, glitter stars on their shoulders, bare skin their frozen nightdress, working hard & drinking harder, the oil industry collapsed as do the people into traffic.

cat-calling eyes wander into the backs of the sockets where is the presence, juice, vitality? candycane vomit spews over granite that doesn’t age. how can we live so far from the Mother? in these dead boxes?

why not do what you Love? open the mind to possibility & the heart will follow instead of escape the reality built up, why not confront & transf take off your clothes take off your skin undress from yourself & do a little contact.

play your organs with your fingertips. when’s the last time you’ve really felt your spleen? i asked a stranger today what part of his internal landscape he doesn’t pay attention to, he couldn’t even give me an answer.

breathe into all the parts of your body, of your animal self. we are so deeply in them let’s get weird. you didn’t think this poem was going here. it’s here. you’re here. we’re all here.

we’re all just waffles waiting to be served.

*** the first of June: newfound appreciation in Aberdream.

waking from a fine dream (of pleasure & flight) to enter another (of pleasure & flight)

patterns like clockwork new patches sewed into the tapestry of moments of finding Love with Passion once i make plans to depart.

weaving cobwebs of connection among the torus of the earth, trying to not be entangled in the web of emotion.

What a dance~ of masculine & feminine at war with each other- follow through with Saturn’s Time & plans, or feel your way through Life? id forever be making Love. & there are so many ways to make Love. with the Earth, with each other, with the wisdom of living through the lens of curiosity & newness.

found freedom in motion~ the earth is a great big garden bed the more we dig & plant ourselves in dirt the more our truths become illuminated in the Sun.

Lovers are rich soul that help feed the roots of my watery soul.

But the topsoil is already deep inside me.

***

5.22 Mirrors. dirty beach oil town your environment Is you. Upward downward mobility Are we even moving?

5.8 London: five-minute poem in a Jewish neighborhood

Reflections on when someone asked,

are you playing monopoly? mono, poly, both? how do you like your coffee? Whipped– with the innards of a cow? are you drinking the blood of this moment? are you drinking for your blood to run faster? so your mind may follow? are you drinking to swim in the mud of thoughts & rainfall, of the changing Sky & birdcall, dont take it personally~ so many of us do when we don’t take it personally feel release recycle body a vessel for passing feeling Nothing will affect you, is that really how to live? Functional Nih-spirit-lism-words & feelings are they enough- are you playing monopoly?

***

the second of June

on a bus out of Norway, past forests & waters jacked-up prices & untouched people.

the officer of customs saw my pack & bit his knuckle– he wanted papers i didn’t have, thought i was freeloading, but apparently he was about to go on holiday, & let me in.

i bet he loves the power to decide someone’s fate. job description: must yell at others well to let out your personal crap. therapee.

i wonder the taste in his mouth.

Strangers offer bus tickets, places to crash, i find Gemini Jesus, Barefoot birthday in the bus hall we are still as people orbit us.

we speak of containers being like a flowerpot soil you can take with you i break my glass container then. it feels important,

the water spills everywhere.

jesus left with his cake party gang of artists & kooks they go north the mountains, i go east to the lakes.

messages in each person i cross Tarot spreads foresee solitude studies, guides Bliss in community bubbles Living extremes to understand Emotional maturity.

I touch a strangers anxious chest and breathe with them, tell them words from my mouth that didn’t come from my mind. Streamed.

Release. Dolphin medicine of breath. I walk past homes, Orange and red to the sea. On a secret beach, a marina wirh my birthday inscribed in it. I crouch goddess pose over the sand Young dead jellyfish unfer my pussy. This one didn’t sting. a fish swimming through emotions of boundaries, dissolved, transformed.

In my dream last night Someone asked the difference Between transformation & transmutation.

5.12

The church bells ring midnight, in this place of obvious magic, quietness and grey in a way I haven’t appreciated before. I wandered into the forest & sang to the spirits in the cemetery on the hill, the taking in the cold wind like wine, up skirt & kissing my bare thighs in this fleeting moment of union with gaia & release. In the woods with loud birds & louder in their movement tree spirits, at the tower over the sea, dreaming with a mother & crone calamity above an alleyway, living the medicine wheel, the plants mirror the heavens, as do we

5.25 Aberdeen

When Life looks like Easy Street…

cloudless sky Scottish morning melting into Granite City seeing Love in everything, in love with Love itself,

from the way the bubble of dew kisses the blade of grass, bringing Water to Earth, rainbow illuminations by the Fire of the Sun, untouched by the soft wind of today.

masculine & feminine in the fractals of everything~ seen & unseen, tangible & formless, active & receptive. playing as One.

from the charges in an Adam, heads & tails, to the Sun & the Moon in their endless dance in circles they hold the Earth & give us structure in waking dream, nightdream.

Mmmm….

i love the simplicity in peoples’ lives here, so telling. just a few spices, grow the plants you savor in your mouth most, no excess, Controlled consumption.

cherry blossoms in Spring, bumbleberries in Summer, understanding the beauty in tended Earth is an extrordinary gift for Spirit.

Disoriented by the late, late sunset & rise before four reframe my mind to bicycle on the feminine side of the road.

Why am i here? i let the feminine take over yesterday, allowed Spirit to guide my fast feet, open to possibility, following signs like breadcrumbs. a not-so stranger led me, through trees that stood in the soil through the tension of the centuries, to where the river meets the sea.

I feel–Fully–In my watery soul, I am. where the rushing River meets the open Sea.

❤️

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lunarfae714 · 7 years

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The seasons in Hawaii :: harvest, feast, war, plant & hoe

Serving pumpkin soup of social justice at the self-titled sanctuary. Collectives & sects with with human-made expectations, rules Seem to have the most corruption. A blanket of belonging covers cobwebs & shadows, conscious & unconscious. eye Tiptoe around the commodification of Spirit Eye tiptoe around judgment & attachment to belief Eye tiptoe around Places with healing titles, For I find Spirit tends to speak loudest in the places we don't seek. still so much beauty in the shadow & communion. Spirit, in everything & most of all Inside your gut! Today I heard a woman Speak of sending her son to rehab for finding him with the spirit molecule Thousands of dollars & doctrine~the foundation of her beliefs~put into ending an experience of something we already contain. What a World Kali Yuga. *** Who else feels the feels lately? The more awake I become The more sensitive to group energy In the giant playground of Great Mystery. Today I saw a zebra dove Laying in the middle of the road Belly-up, chest-puffed Sweet blue eyes Sending danger Scared as night. & the cars continued Ethanol burning Eyes narrowed Individual journeying Unconnected Apathetic monster trucks Machissimo earth rapers Outside the farmers market In this upcountry island town. I ran to her The cars continued Dusting my back. She, so sensitive to my touch Sometimes I wish I wasn't human So the plants & animals Haven't learned to be afraid of me. I am not this skin I am not this body But I can fall into patterns of apathy Too, or feel so deeply Used & confused. I felt all she felt As I wrapped her in my scarf & I haven't stopped feeling. My tears haven't stopped spilling Into the pages. So touched by the medicine of a Fallen dove, fallen messenger Black & white messages Into my lap, To be a bird without wings to fly Is how so many of us feel. I feel the feels as if they are my own I know she lives inside me We all feel each other. I feel her among other spirits that circle me Play the rain stick In this Iron Age of radical feeling. When we swim in the puddle of our shadow We can rise again to see the Sun. ** Tune in. I cannot imagine The great suffering that's happening right now Around the globe to the earth the earthwalkers Chemicals in the water Wiping indigenous Gassing Hidden, stories now surfacing as we awaken & control our power. But I try to imagine As a leader glorifies war from his dinner table & keeps the secrets of the dark. Embrace the shadow I think this is what we feel Why we feel so strong Collective unconscious We cannnot hide the truth in this part of our evolution. All affects each other. We have awoken to our abilities Telepathy, empathy, We can feel across fake borders Offerings of pine & sage Smoke & incense Flute songs and Decompressions. Unspoken Under the full moon, Alone with the elements I can show mama earth My nightdress I wear the skin of a lover Mama Donna asked me today, How do you make Nature sexy? She already is. *** Let's repattern our ways of thinking if it helps us. Turn unconscious addictions conscious. Restructure pornography. Or make it more available and different-who knows! quit having drunk sex. Let people speak their wounds and heal them. Know the potential that we can work on this in a way that serves us. *** salt in the mouth shadow on the mind We made ourselves up. Do your thoughts match your reality? I fall into water each night in my dreams. to swim with grace when the collective unconscious can seem like a nightmare *** When the beauty of seeing With all of your eyes Of blank Infinity Watch waves crash Over & over Watch waves crash Cycles of yin & yang They always work as one. There is so much beauty When the lens of our souls Don't focus on the separation But see the spiderwebs of All that lives & transmutes The web becoming And us as spiders Flies Moths Fallen pollen New growth Bruised bark Cotton balls & rainfall Can loosen the web Cleanse To begin another. Let us be with each other Really forgive & love at that core That's all that r

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lunarfae714 · 7 years

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hawi: at the sanctuary

winter solstice

pregnant with Spirit

we can see energy in spots

flower of life in everything,

fractals

mirror for lover

telepathy

jaw & sexuality

guards & animal spirits

separation through electricity

how many gallons of water do you use a day?

fulfill the prophecy.

WE are always Composting.

the all seeing big Eye

will show you the jaguar in all the fractalbreakdownsitsallsacredmathenergycomingthriughinwaves

The darkspirit of the rank dead boar rots first

How tall the plants rise when you can really see

the fields of their beings

the electrocolored waverolls as they sway,

as they ask to be recognized & empathized.

Why do I dream of whales in my womb?

What do you have to say & do to be free?

The land receives & recycles, it will compost us all.

Where do all the things go? What keeps your attention?

Honor the kinks hidden behind your intestine

Intention

You are your environment

You become what you consume

You are not the words in your head or the emotions in your butt chakra.

not stuck the mind

feel it all—

you are not that.

once we acknowledge we can let go.

***

IN on the north Tip top of the Big Eye,

hawi means a time of famine,

hungry, it yearns to feel it all--

rain & ever-present breeze,

sundance, at once

on the kohala coast

cuddled by ironwoods

& dark, leafy greens

fenced-in rooster calls

guardian four-legged,

the most graze full bovine

in endless pastures of green

prickled with peyote

like a dream of windmills

& human sacrificed spirits ROAM

they need a giggle

from the sushi trio

fellow criminals, thieves

of the system

asked to leave the place of refuge

for channeling.

here fire is lit inside

resolution comes

when you give it all

back to earth.

***

You are the writer & recipient of Anonymous love letters everywhere.

0 notes

lunarfae714 · 7 years

Text

guatemaya & mecksiko

12.29 Atop Yaxha Pyramid

when we can measure our journey

in love shared,

found, exchanged?

instead of in fear of disease

hijack eyes of mania

panic

feeding-off-conflict

the beauty is known no ego

only offerings

can the love always be

charged like the Sun,

infinite, and changing

in each hour-

when does it become a service,

the exchange?

when can it be fully free

undrained, exuberant?

for yourself & for all

for the earth

for the wind

for all that is—

changing form

a leminascate

can it all be

selfless

words & actions,

are they enough?

like the rocks that love the water which kisses them,

the eternal dance

of stability & moving union.

***

after noon

soft dreams

downstream

count backwards

from twenty

& forth

until the numbers dissolve

facts turn to feeling

& the border boxes break free

natural & unseen

patterns yet changing

each non-moment still

like pre-dawn’s cirrus

the dance like curtain

unfold away lights

strong-

the elements

burnt sun

ice water

really

feeling it all

full

heart

full

mind

full

nothing

as it should BE

always still

& moving

seed to harvest

sow

in to morrow

with Love’s light

blasting

1.17.16

amethyst

charged

emerald & selentine

dreams directed

by the mind’s wind

candlewax drip

fixed on fingers

the torch lights

our nightcrawl

naked under the quarter moon

& the river runs high

poison toads

& branches that split,

graze under the soles

night becomes dawn

time told by Sky

the visions change in Ember’s logs

consume gadgets not necessary

almighty mother fire force

acts, destroys, creates

our womb ignite

as we place hot stones on our sacral chakras,

active the living unacknowledged children

the family of us

the natural

All living as one.

water pulleys from the creek,

the new flow.

the same water near passes

over our feet twice

our collective feeling,

on solid foundations.

***

when I’m alone

& write poems

of travelers notes

how real addictions can be

to communication

sugar from the parasite

all the world addicted to the white mans crystal

ancient ruins of conquest

how to get away

from conquerer mentality?

can we remove ourselves from history?

why do we capture another?

separate, control, dominate

trapped in the material system

material hunger

we are spiritual beings

meant to live like plants

will it disappear as the bombs go

the few who print the papers

the chemicals & vaccines

police and sex tourists

drag us where?

the north and south pole

on the same earth.

morning meditation on the river dock

silver smokerings oscillate

tubes of ashes fall

the air moves east

& the river rolls west—

wind & water

frankincense & appelblauwzeegroen

their dance

smooth & constant

like thoughts dancing along the rivers

(background noise is all)

no use to anticipate

the next moment

or dwell

the past moment

who you were

what you said

what you thought

what you felt

meaningless

when we live in the mind

in our fears, pain, or planning

we will miss the sweet kiss

of wind on our lips,

the first sip of coffee, bitter

the way the monkeypod shines crimson

gleams bark in the noon sun,

the glory in taking a inhale deep

in tune with the sway of the trees,

you may not see

the makeshift fishingrod

of sticks & shells

the bearded fishermans tailored pants

beside me on the dock

what are we trying to catch?

how simple to speak in silence

when we are at peace,

knowing we swim through these bodies

beyond our crown

beneath our feet

complete

in the profound simplicity

of stillness.

***

day mares

1.7.16

cold breeze & hard nips

a woman sings go ask alice

and the naked children shushing me

under fallen ladders ex-lovers

with newfound company locked

out of the room of togetherness

outside, the observer watches

the time

a stolen wristwatch

a sun blistered lip,

salty like sea waves

& bad barganing

what golden melancholy brings

an even pace a meditation

a clearing of nebulous brain lobes

rotten with acid washed

down gopher holes

bruised & fallen tangerines

which do we shape shift into

focus our energy our hearts

we can be the potted plant

or are we already,

and who is the gardener?

****

san marcos sound wave

lights across the lake, starry

dogfights in the calle

endless & ghastly

cries of infants constant

like crickets

& fireworks

thrown reckless

like the piles of shit

scattered on cement

trumpets & flutes

balancing cop cars on fire

across the lake

peace in the balance

of turquoise caldera

the mother lake

has waves.

when i heard pretchel speak of

the navel—

bellybutton of the earth

blood sacrificed from the

hard hits

deep fingered

dirty regrets

just to sleep in a bed

away from the nightmares shadow/work

9-5 & 5-9

what a way to pass the time

we jump off the piers onto boats

trembling volcanos make our circles as we

kiss on the mouth

bless the food

break the blender

pull the Devil

karma

as orange the Sun understand

could twist that way

pure BLISS the goddess

we are all a part of

perfect nothingness

nonetheless

i am you

are me

what i do to you

i do to me

when i pour out my mind

like lemonade

the sun shines through

shitshow brigade

body ecstasy

outside the body

we were born as two

we were born without shoes

without the navel of the earth

that keeps

pulling us back.

***

friends with scorpions

the all-knowing scorpion

aliens

why do they return

to the same places

same beds like

second-time lovers

who think they can get by

hiding beneath your pillow

while you wonder in silence

what it will take to be strong

amid Surprise

5.18

sleep paralysis

& dead drunks on the sidewalk

brains hanging loose over

puddle of blood sangria

faerira any excuse

to drink to death

feel the pain in my kidneys

free the beating heart parasite

pulse in my body

pulse in my pulse

in my despair,

mary oliver’s wild geese sing,

tell me of yours

i will tell you mine

tell me why the shadow man

comes at the coldest part of night

sun rise before

we rise too

pretend these bodies

will keep us going

and the wind will carry us

in the way she pleases

living to die noble

or living humbly?

***

6.20

sweetwater

the little pleasures-

to graze my tongue along a frozen mango

perfectly ripe

deep orange, unique & so sensual,

craving union with the mouth

to remain nude all day in the jungle

to dance wildly to a drumbeat capable of visioning

to hear ruiz shout the problems of the mind

to think of life outside misery

to cook granola on the fire

to free the lice eggs from my head

to view problems as roadblocks

water-filled potholes choose

how to get through and admire the turtle.

reptilian overload

to see the birth of the day—

the fresh black baby chick

bounce under mamas wing

to roam freely & pick cactus spikes

to prepare dinner

all when the negativity has stepped out.

***

jellyfish regenerate, they are the aliens of the sea.

how to live naturally, harmoniously

here i am, meant to

reflect the fucked up system i am from,

to encourage others to return to the land.

wake up & work together

return to simplicity

not selfishness, pleasure & comfort

we meet the right people at the right time.

truth comes in action & awakening

not the the illusion of movement

or perception deception.

thank you iyke

***

not feeling

vs. feeling it all

meant to ascend

& experience nothing

do you love rollercoasters

or are we?

poems hidden in moleskins

in a sugar-addicted consumer country

malnutrition consciousness

school teachers in system to know the enemy

there’s a reason why the madmen cooped up in the jungle

away from us all

& there’s a reason why the city folk stay cooped up in concrete,

swarm like fish, absorbed in screens & button

virtual reality, where Gaia Mama

shows her pubes in remote rooftops

the belief in the debt coins & papers

manifest by three generations of puppeteers.

And yet-

who feels more alive?

i see the frustrated alien bacteria control the game

war mentality,

beheading kittens

craves community-

yet blows them away with the word vomit violence.

hate the system, know the system

to use the system,let the system

control how much can we control?

how much will outside stimuli satisfy?

busy consume interweb-reliant

instantly gratified

forget what is really gratification, blessings

how many systems

no different species

we are infinite,

nonlinear time

no reptiles control

don’t get caught up in the spiderweb of the world

who weaves your dreams?

the spiders body, lemniscate

forever expanding

intend, manifest, unchain, let be.

you hate poetry because it doesn’t move fast enough

& paints a portrait too pretty

unknowing that scenery

& the white spaces

speak and move in in ways

the human body could never.

spinning in the cycle of earthly life

creatures on the wheel, darwin

hired to tell us dog-eat-dog

& win not work together

lets separate for power & call it evolution.

but we eat too. we eat chemicals in candy

the white man’s crack, let memory be a hard drive

in the computers of our minds.

backpacker dilemma

live in love

live to get high

live in fear

live to die

live to live

***

morning coffee with crazed

one way to wake up.

irony of sitting & talking

the real parasite the defeat of pessimism

when truth speaks

don’t be insulted

swimming in sweat

in the mexican sun

caked dirt

being in isolation

makes one angrier?

lonelier?

working together

the real solution

instead of believing

in the money go-round

that separates us in our boxes

our safe.

in a meat-excessive society

to fight, kill, invade

poison the food

control the water

damage the sea

leak nuclear waste

when free energy

could fix it all?

ets walk, step by step,

mindful

in our place

in the evolution

of being, aware

of control, corruption

of our ripple, on ourselves

into the universe and under the stars.

remember what hicks said,

we are all expressions of the same ocean

6.16

each day i’m asked by a mexican man

why I’m traveling alone

they don’t understand

im not alone

last weeks companion

a parasite in my gut

and now i have a family of lice on my head.

eggs waiting to watch

you see

i attract the finest suitors to share myself with

you wouldn’t think they wouldn’t want to join me

as i walk for hours in vernal Mexican sun

eating only fruit

living away from traditional travelers

caught in the system

on vacation oil their money runs out

drinking their way along the hostel road

sightseeing the hits of their tourist books

you are your surroundings

you are your environment

express the unique wave

you image yourself to be

all your beliefs

shaped by stimuli, external

reflections

pregnant in the dreamscape.

fast-paced taqueria tales

i find it silly to spend much money on myself

pay the price of locals

& sit at the tamale stand

on the street corner

with teens and papas

& saucy mujer server

(always love that central american women are not afraid to laugh at you)

behind the counter like a dealer

in the casino of the calle.

bright lights

of the coke machine behind her

& bad television, sports that fuel the town

in the sugar-addicted novella.

division as entertainment.

hit me.

another tamale strikes the bar

with swift hands,

the 40 peso workday

soft camote sleeps in a bed of corn

under a blanket of hot sauce.

hit me.

a week of accidental fruitarianism.

can’t stand the heat

reptilian land

a far walk to the village

flesh-eating bacteria going around

the one who passes gives me a ride

with shotguns in the backseat

he eyes it & grins,

“are you scared?”

today a gang member

tattooed tears under his eye

in an iron blue shirt

large bodyguard

working the tourist turtle beach

like a chessboard

eyescans

hustling at the entrance

to watch all who come & go

like prey. he lent me

his nephew’s jacket

from his swanky rick roller

family car

and thought about

the slice of cheesecake in the dumpster

you can find sweet things hiding

in all corners of the earth.

pat watches as papayas

do the reverse-rainbow dance

satisfied, self-reliant

as the green parrots pass

& a new pair of eyes

hatch from the egg.

meanwhile, the masses dive

in binary systems

of separation, run the wheel of the money-go-round

chew on the potent chemicals,

live inside cement boxes,

domesticated mice working for money-driven madmen

but

since time isn’t linear

& the seeds have been planted

what you seek

is seeking you

in the karmic cycle

of non-attachment

non-aversion

true action.

with steady hands,

a quiet mind,

patience

you’ll watch the earth

return to tribe or die.

flora teaches us

to honor what’s growing

follow new life

all realities created

christmas eve in the mayan jungle

mules do the pleasure bankroll not he dirt

as the rainbow scale turkeys peek aimlessly from the forest

the jaguar stalks the deer behind us

& the howler monkeys do the tree-top tango.

their call like a lion

i practice the guitarita

watch makeshift football

& lazing hammock brothers sway

blistered soles from miles of dirt deep

treks through mosquito village

i miss my blood family

yet present with my tree family.

my ancestors in their mysteries

corn & snake gods

modern looters & night guards

body full like the moon,

blood sacrifices and love rituals on the jaguar pyramid,

solstice of the waves of this recycled life

of forgiveness.

0 notes

lunarfae714 · 7 years

Text

more poems, a few seasons past

how lucky to have breath

stop & ask why we live

question our structures

question human history & wor ship

find out we know nothing.

just be.

an open container

for Spirit.

***

twenty Worn tetherballs

off-the-chain

in the plain view of

concrete charade

people in heavy metal boxes

on wheels shrugging off

piss-stained balls

in unmarked yards

i wonder if you

saw the roads,

high ways

concrete carplays

in the colors of the mental play

of each driver

would they be

colorful, or still grey?

grateful or stray?

what strain of gasoline

fuels the minds

of mindless drivers

what excites us

while our earth decays

who makes our day

when the culture is so far away

from deep roots,

holding neighbors' hands

taboo

what can we plant

& grow too?

return to our mother

to our tribe.

together,

without divide.

possession at the rainbow gathering.

sacred fire

not so sacred afterfall

as the village dissects the chip

from the backside of her ear

she stops talking to rosemary-

who haunts her waking,

green eyes that travel

like a bouncy ball,

lost

muttering

paranoid

in a void.

***

let these hands transform

to portals to open doors

from playing the piano of dirt,

sparking fruitful dance of the earth

Gaia feeds us when we feed her

when we pour out love, it comes back in

we let another cosmic spiral begin~

to serve our creations of the now~

for our hearts, our ears, our old souls

in strange flresh want to be stirred, not shut down

conduct our hands & our throats

as intruments of Light, sailing the eternal boat

help us let go of illusions of fear,

discomfort, darkness we know

help us let Go

the light comes in nothingness

it comes in silence

our shared dream

our family

our energy

recycled & renewed

cleansed with intention

our energy reflects

infinity.

***

pictures for what

at the sevensacredpools

high rockpiles

tourists drenched in neon

not stopping to be

but to get a photograph.

as the water that freefalls

with the wind, the breath

of the Sea & i came

by foot, naked under a raincoat

to watch the sky sitcom,

color show,

highfive cows

on the silent jungle road.

the sole palm on the mountain

anal, how we can be selfish

not giving all we can like the

monkeypods give the wind,

the rain gives the stream,

we plant the seeds for our earth

or ourselves

what is really greater

its

obvious

and yet

we destroy it

but the pictures are pretty

what moment is worth capturing

when memory distracts us

from growth?

glorify the photo

the still

eternal film

identity

how can we be fre

from our memory?

***

newyearseve at the potfarm

when we broke the wood splitter

after sunsets

cum & dirty animals

on the trail

fingering a carcass

shoegaze & bodyshots

on couches that aren't ours.

& the girl on the phone

asks what i'm doing with

my poetry degere

***

when i am blind

i can really see

how the sun reflects the rocks on the shore

a million suns line the sea

& mother moon takes up half the sky

the light is grand when i can see.

***

plate lunch

found bliss in darkness

you are the white light in my dream

when our chests align

divine

runs through our body line

celestial

nightlightning strike on

these cages of flesh

these brains

of judgment &

fear, weight

evaporate

with the light

angel

when i am only

white light

charged

full-body-bliss

the game creatures of the system

fully charged

to give the white light to

next emotional vagabond

the sleeping dream is

the waking dream

and we are the fingers to turn the switch

kitttens in the palm of my hand

detachment meditation

the ever-moving train within

we become the beauty

of earths afternoon rainsong

bamboo creaks of delight

aesthetic throatsing

sweet simplicity of hot water

and ginger.

the bowl sings

when the wind moves

over our head.

remove the mask

and truly see everything.

***

12.29.16

above the monkeypods,

touched by south-blown aire,

the breath of old-man Saturn

we wait among

nebulas of cyberlit selfiesticks-

modern self-sacrifice--

wait for the moon to rise--

to wait

a lost practice

in the fast-paced

outer-space

instant-gratified

culture without gratitude.

wait

on layers & layers

of sacred stone.

present-

with the knowledge

inside these bodies

we were once the hands

that carried the stone,

the bled freely,

that knew the reflections

of the planetary drama:

the sky-show on Earth

the sacred Nature

& geometry of it all-

even the rocks wait with us

in our collective breath

in this cloud of illusion

brought by the family

of dragonflies.

1.25.15

the darkness inbetween

flashes of consciousness

like drowning air

the hidden woodpecker

or the muted tree

the distant shotgun

melody, off-key

or how the cobweb tangoes

from the liquid gold

coasulates 5pm power of afternoon sun

a never quiet forest

forever beckoning yet

i forgot the magic

down the tree talk

leave the thumbprint acrons

speared dry pine tears

the worms and the thorns

the rhythmic bubbles

of breath like the hotsprings

fairywands

synsthesia woodspell

mesmerizing & dulled

with my blank stare in the pan

my body that will tremble no more

to reel in the

brother & sister shepherd

until the bites swell

my skin once again.

i take a baby pinecone

& wait to exhale.

2.6.15

neruda aftertastes of lovepoems

i come in your nothingness

like a passing rainffall

thoughts lost before

the sun's descent

i come in your mayan silence

like a bite of garden candy

in the middle of a fast

you come to me in dreams--

even in dreams, you lift me

with wonder, divine light

two nude chests perfectly align

sorrows dissipate like dew

the other eve, you were the water

of my illusion. you sobbed

shoulders hunched & heaving

for you, for me, for

the static of our living movie.

why did i leave neverland

for another open hand?

i will be the Bliss you bring me.

a late february migration

not spending a dmie

bicycles where the cars pass

down the volcano,

in a musty trailer with bellyaches

distracted from the new colors

of flora

i still feel it-

in the folks who lift us up

in the backs of their trucks

in the washed-up tortoise

& freefalling passionfruit,

mellow music & polynesian words

like medicine of

slow-moving people

on a slow-moving island.

1.31

cream-colored fairies before noon

wave after wave, stretched & bird-like

transforming into waterfowl

flowed with breasts & freckles,

whiskey shadow gods explain

narratives of the dead kings

and holy mothers from Spain,

irrelevancies?

december sweat

underbelly portal

left open too long

can the body forget to breathe?

can the chicken be born again

to walk out of your potroast?

the belly rolls of dead madron

the rolls in the way

between a clear mind

and the state of distraction

don't linger on loves lost,

the lack of drive

december sweat

from my armpits

to the hole under the madron

to water the earth

as i burrow my bones.

***

santa cruz

twenty-two days to reach enlightenemnet

crowded redwood trails

this morning made our

separation a scene

to be by the sea

the water that mirrors the wild in me

light colors here hide the darkness

the oversized pastel homes

the white skin that reigns

worriless over white sand

when you cook close

sun reflects the glass, for grains, charcoal bark

whiteness

in the dark solitude of the mountain

i went a little mad.

winter solstice

black panther spirit in an abandoned field

when we slept in the church van

Bast, or an old Indian

reminding us of the white man torture.

with my spirit guide beside

desert trips where there used to be forest

california is dead.

christmas tamales inspired by the border

my season of depression.

my dance teacher once told me

making the bed each day just makes the whole house look nice

instructing the direction of my hips.

music is in every moment

music already abundnat

frequencies & fractals

geometry of movement

death is stealing new cycles

the animals of our bed

change with the temperature of our tears

the cycle of our mothers

we communicate here

travel through the galaxies

warm tears of sorrow & joy

faces in everything

trees remind you of the people you miss in yourself.

counterclock spirals

in the half-lit cabin

we watch fire like a television,

the sound of fallen wood tongues

we roll the dice in the manifesting mind

read wet eyes of my lover

always surprise me

candelit rest

in the pyramid home.

-fluid static-

lullyabing nightmares

the appetizers we dream in the mid-afternoon

bells of bedridden in our sacred triangle

madron, smoke & mirrors,

high-hung hiding termites and antlers,

a dome to sky pines.

spirits flash in to watch

the dark shadows of grace float ---the creatures.

what are street drugs?

laying on the bench outside the coffeshop,

run by a wealthy church.

overheard conversation

"not much to talk about=not too bad"

they hold their books from the Free Bible room

"have my bed its not weird, its not weird"

so removed in my head on narcos & weeping

in public from the way we treat each other & our pathwhere

i lost it

"it is easy not to look"

suburban sidewalk study

they look at me & look away

i needed a break from the noise

the orchestra of voices

loud women constant concerns &

biology notes & lost boots left

the churchgoers car

nice drums or jazz

monster of control & demand

well dressed church leaders

the church folk always look happier

the safety in identity,

acceptance in anonymity

Which do you prefer?

the anonymity of white privelge

smiles from passing men or children

or the constant attention of a white girl

in central america

smiles from passing men

both kind and undressing

to fade or melt in fake empires?

new mexico first

midnight coyote call & elk herds

push shower & chocolate oatmeal on a campstove

cacti spruce & mesquite

empty roads & desert

adobe & forests

dry heat, redwillow, aspen and mullen.

crescent waxing

in the Sky's midnight cloud paintings

leaving Pueblo into the Rockies

in the valley by river end

sunset moonrise

folk music & free firewood

grandfather faces in a redrock mountain

the most constellations under

the clear sky with lightning storms afar.

befriending bibcycle junkies

outside the donut shop

in the town where i dont belong

sunshine cupo'joe to calm

a long night of meth.

hidden hundreds

in a fake locked book,

jerry garcia

eases the sneeze & aches

roadhead to ease the fights

bald cop with traveling advice

sleeping & sneezing in reststops

free food and kind strangers in memphis

latenight roadsodas

stovestop cooking

cement lots with new friends

arkansas

for naked boatrides,

on a manmade lake

until the elder tells us to come back

the universe always provides to the Lovers

friends, meals to eat, where to rest,

water to bathe, towns that like a little color,

soul music, spoken word and dancing hips.

america

self-titled pais of

corporate stores of things that no one needs

restaurants with deadly ingredients

people stay in their boxes

drive in their cars

cops lurking hyjenas to cuff

those whose feet

graze, tease the edge of the boxes

the white-dotted lines

so the animals can return to boxes,

jailcells

and the president

in his great white box

declares war and shows us

to spend money we dont have

perpetual enslavement

taxes to start another

generation of animals.

train emergencies

when they can really know

the nature of themselves

in disappearing grass.

lumberjack love

rainbow

palm-planted

midnight

blue-breasted

humminbirds

of foreign lands

stinkbugs & cicadas

orbit my lobes

in red kitchens

while houseflies

frolick on treasure island

and our bubblegum mattress on wheels-

the birds of paradise

cocoooned

to the insects of now.

my lover

who moves & speaks through the sea & moonlight

has human hands again.

1 note · View note

lunarfae714 · 7 years

Text

after the vernal equinox, 2015

intimacy

in the unseen,

microbes flee

off the tongue

dance on the dirty rim of the teamug

bliss

on the mountain bald: the numbing wind of soltitude

guilt

in the bloodmarks on the tight, smoky skin of my lover.

***

let it go--

tybee mushroom tea

the soft songs of wind

playing in the pilsner bottles,

the mildew edges of

sharpened teeth

washed up on a

jetted shorline

catnaps on crooked grey

dark matter comes

in clouds

of grease.

painted scenes from

manhattan museums

& the gulls laugh in ritual

-the squall of sunsets

broken images super-

imposed

into sunflower seeds.

***

jaco

the woman of the sea

reigns the high tide

her power unseen,

& women drink free.

my intuition is stronger here,

dreams dark & strange, now i

watch the fan,

how the spinning taco

moves the water bubbles

on my skin.

i hear voices in the fan,

through the bamboo,

spirits dance through shadows

in sober hallucinations

my magic is fueled-

i know how people feel, where the

lost objects go.

the abuelita ghost

disgraces our dirty hostel,

why she hangs around above the cast irons

to shame how the land has moved.

the land of iguanas

and stray dogs,

the street horses

for show.

dazed by the dark

crows above,

the birds yell here

woo hoo hoo hoo,

a deep waltz of the hermit.

crabs run free to

challenge me

to a claw-off.

the birdsong &

roosters in early

sunrise & sets.

who now sows the

seeds of this

town of cement?

***

the open heart chakra

unreal

"there is so much Light coming through your eyes"

Light confused, real, or passing

Love talk dissolved into frustration fleeing

"i will take care of you"

in the bathroom at the devil's hour

nude gymnastics on the handicap bars

or the black leather couch

outside in the rain,

where the cameras don't record.

on the beach at the crowded club with the

beds for "lounging," empty pools,

loud music & people changing faces

where's does Light go when you throw your bottle on the street?

you taught me to read the ocean

when to dip on the board, so the currents

wont

sweep me away.

***

forced hustles

when i ride my bicycle out of the tourist town

on to the highway

the welcome goes dissipates.

mango falls like lullabies

over the mountaintops,

the afternoon storm comes every day.

the zebra chicken pace roads

of tall pines lining like curtains

to hide broken huts,

roofs with holes, clustered together,

the old women and men sit

in folding chairs & scorn us

(to stare with a darkness)

my wide eyes and white skin,

undesired swords

papayas for cash

from their backyards

in their grass

walking bills

families against intruders

but the dark pretty boys

beneath the banana patch

throw hellos and whistles into the air

friendlier than the rest

its hard to follow the surfers advice,

shrug it off like layers of clothes

but to be a woman in a sexist country

to hear one more "ay mama"

to try and block out horns

from each car that passes by,

thumbs up, glazed stares,

but i often still take the free drinks

bring peace to

strip the patriarchy at

the end of the night when the lines

between prostitutes and strong women

turn grey with each tequila shot

in fake plastic.

and you are naked in the rain at the end of the night

jumping off the roof of the hotel next to you

shaky shingles under my wet feet

into the swimming pool.

women here are like the horses on the beach

slapped and rode without say,

"when it swells, ride it" says the beach bar,

without question.

the club called space, "because in space,

no one can hear you scream."

i will be strong

when the police motocyclist

stops me to ask if i have a boyfriend,

i got asked today

why my eyes show such confidence

he didnt understand,

pura vida.

***

nunca me dejes con el sabor de miel en mis labios

the roosters warn us of morning

& the grey stray gnaws at my toes

***

embracing the mother archetype

in the hostel home--

herd in the streetpeople,

feed 'em & paint

the cycle of Sky on the walls

because no one should spend a moment

without seeing mother moon.

***

My taste is Aging. With time, I desire someone for the whole run or nothing at all. & the platonic moments in-between....glimpses of Love, some, through the gaps of teeth of sweet teachers, Love is kindness, and I don't hesitate to tell them everything on my mind. But it's not about me. My taste is Aging. As seasons pass, quicker now, i want the patterns on my clothes to fade away-- the prints on t-shirts to melt, words to unwrite themselves, so I can be only color. Earthly hues, crotcheted shades that reflect patterns of time...mud, grass, & mojado. Celery, mirrors of colors i see most. i want to become dirt, for my fingertips to play the piano of the earth. i want to disappear into the bench so they stop looking. or to the bright colored buildings, fade into them, brilliant stains of Spanish colonization, streets once threaded by pirates, filibusters.... my skin is browning, French bread in the oven. caramel flavor in the throat every time I look up, come to the caldeza calle later, let me take you on a trip, familiar faces now they know my name...let me melt into the park bench. now a smiling man asks to share the bench, not an invitation for 20 questions, i thought, as i watch the sweat balls fall off his thick brow and slicked back hair...so much gel satures the combed jetblack hairs...he asks if im a Christian missionary, why i am not writing in Spanish can't you see I'm writing on a stream of consciousness and I cannot understand when you speak as fast as my mind runs why can't I just glide into town and eat scraps like the coyote dogs and men that circle us. the men stand in a pack in all directions, staggered, still. ready to attack. the stranger talks about nica peligroso & I wonder. sweat pounds down my face, no clouds crowd the 3pm sun, and I am wearing white, Duncan's shirt because it reminds me of him. He is my fuel when I am down, I know he will always listen & lift me up. Even if the words aren't always right, the Love, the strongest I have known. Yet my sweat swims on my chest--I love to be naked but I can't here. I return to my job at the bar, a date with my notebook. Interrupted. pass the young kids who sell cigarettes & candy in their handwovenbaskets. I sure wish they weren't so cute. I listen to the church bells ring 5pm, catholic country, mass and processions and women who do Hail Marys in silence as they pass by churches into the streetmarkets where even toy dinosaurs are laid out on the cement. Old town. I will erase my mind so it can be filled with beauty--sights, openness, to experience as I prepare to travel again, alone, in love with the land, in love with the new. Who isn't? I love it here too, I just keep getting myself tangled in neon cobwebs. Who painted my cobwebs? The beach is dirty here & the some serpents love to bite. why are my dreams so vivid and I can feel everything? I have never felt so present, the subconscious world of the bodysoul, reigns in Granada. The volcano watches over everyone. Waiting. On clear days, i can track the crevices with raised eyes, the dips of destruction. Back to the men, there's no darkness in their eyes, only glimpses of sincerity, friendliness in their throats. i want them to notice the dark circles, crescent moons that wax under my eyes- I am tired--the scorching sun, the dorm life of people forever coming & going, the sore back and calves from wandering juices out the bubbles from my blood. I can bounce back. being of water, I am one with the the waves. I will be still soon~I can ignite locals & travelering folk with music, dancing, fast-paced mojitos, sass & stories. I can love everyone when i remember we are one. Traveling tests the pesos mi corazon can lift, what am I doing here, how can I keep the golden light with strangers when such a huge part of me is carved away & replaced by a nervous heart and dizzy stomach. I am learning. It comes in waves & will pass with time. Oscar, the cattle farmer, makes me laugh now as the dogs fight in the street, with cheesy smiles and goofy dances. He tells me I have to learn the history of dance, it's charming. If the moon is right, we will partner as he continues to tell me the rich culture of poor nicas from a sharp tongue. A barb wired bar does the appearing act with the strangers of the eve. i am learning lessons on nourishment from strangers, friends are the richest. I no longer crave what i used to, short affairs, instead Receive Love through language , through movement or starry or sun-eyed guitarists i learn ambitions & spirit through reflections and grow from similar drives in the health way.

Waiting is rich, mature, perfect. I wait for the Love.

Stimulation so easy, so much culture & more flavor to feed the eyes. And Walking, wandering, is meditation, a way to see and cycle mantras in my head, to a clear mind--

***

there is a time of night

when only salsa music plays from the bar

as the nacho macho men

with the necklaces of saints

sing along to ballads of love lost

in the land of lotus flowers

ritual earth dance

smoke & stones

hummingbirds,

sun and no sickness,

hangovers island cured

woken by wild birds of paradise

i wear dirt & facepaint,

smell of smoke & incense,

do not hunger

because food is all around us,

in the sunrays,

the moonbeams.

the land is kind,

inviting to connect our barefeet

to our bare selves,

our purpose, our blessings.

Isla teaches us to be kind,

in the hours of the scorching sun

we carry each other

when the gravel is too hot for the other.

my heart understands-

loses the worry, jealousy, darkness

out of my true essence.

spirit dances down my hairs

wavy & free,

dressing my naked skin

the dirt carresses my feet

clay & the smoothest sand

nothing bites my skin

& the volcanoes are gods,

watching over the island.

we eat vegetarian hot dogs on the beach

(bananas in bread)

over translator books

to aid our conversation.

we watch the rain fall

on the watchtower

we paint cosmic triangles:

material, spiritual, divine

and hold on.

***

warm rain,

and strands of lightning dance

freckles are the stars of the body

telepathy & laughter.

senses awakened, cleansed, reborn

native islandfolk offer rides on their

motorcycles, stuffed with four people

or a place at their home to sleep,

next to giant pigs

gallos replace Granada's churchbells.

crickets, the serenaders of the night.

peter pan, i saw on the ferry

wanted to cradle in his lap

with the large lips

of a cancer man.

old soul

with marypoppins backpack

& digeridoo.

and the sailor.

my time by the water

in the hammock hut

by pirates & drugas.

when i was wondering what to do,

peter told me,

"todo esta volando"

he sucked out the venom.

we’d fry yucca cakes

over a little fire at sunset

local farm workers

passed around a coco loco,

my skin was like job's in the devil's curse

i took it as a sign to leave.

we slept on the sunmat on the porch,

& woke each other up to speak of our dreams

after an evening

of moonlit walks around sleeping bovine

& barbed wire,

stopping to hear the tongue

of mother moon.

on a secret path

through neighbor's farm

staring in awe,

the boys and i.

we then watched the sun set

behind Concepcion volcano

trix-yogurt colors

on a paddleboard with simone

our silhouttes divine

activitating our third eye

sunset on the pineal gland.

nude, smoking the pipe

from a mermaid,

and i thought i’d changed my mind.

the simplicity of island life,

fallen fruit & fires,

houses from palm,

folks drank rum like water,

fished for dinner,

lived with the land,

making love at nighttime.

***

after the island

the angry boss

who doesnt share his fancy meals

speaks only french in a spanish country

has never laughed.

he looks at me, wide-eyed

like im an alien in his house,

terrified & confused

when i go in for a hug.

he spit at me

when i walked away

"an immature child

destined to go nowhere"

i can't say i didn't cry

but i sure have grown a bit

and been around

***

puerto viejo

maid life with the mad frenchman

can't he look around

at the abandoned beaches, clear as sky

with the occasional wanderers,

constant rainbow butterflies

& rich smells of the land, the jungle.

i bicycle on the one sacred road

between the jungle & sea,

a blood vessel highway,

we are beating cells

the strong heart of the land

string nebula clouds circle

between the daily storms

the beach is like a painting-

exposing the meaning of seafoam green

the brushstroke overhead is a jaded blue--

i run my toes along the coral

and the brilliant eyes-turquoise

of a slovenian man meet mine

to ask the time

he holds my hand as i try his slackline.

if only the madman could open up to see

the spiders, sacred mothers of the forest

palm-sized, red-striped, abundant

with webs like vecinas

they are the grandmothers, the ones

with the power in the latin way.

but he couldn't--

so i ran away from the french jungle regime.

that day, the sun painted a golden halo

on each passing body,

the sand & sea shone like glitter--

cerulean & pumpernickle

i ran faster than my sweatfall,

fueld by french elitism & the manic madman.

& the hearts, doors, jobs, opened as answers,

enlightened spacetalk from starseeds,

touch, words, and galatic downloads

purififying

maca starships & hummus hugs,

raising vibrations,

a new environment

for a deadly disease.

followed by wild dog

i out hold my thumb

and trust in the yoniverse.

***

We hide our room key in Ulysses

& fall asleep to the stream.

This truely is the rich coast--

i watch prices ascend in the tourist blackholes

of the sea. you have to pay to leave

this country, and pay hundreds

for an import.

lets turn folks to dollar signs

stand at the cascada,

dive past the reef to see clearly

the creatures live more freely than us.

***

the only sunny day in a month,

everyone at the playa

& i

cluelessly mind the lodge

watch the freckle bugs do the pac man

along the bamboo bench,

the curtains' slow return

after the windspell,

the slightest turn from the

four diseased & sleeping dogs

& the still spider

above the bookshelf.

i listen to sitar instrumentals,

peck through Wuthering Heights,

pick a stray banana off the bunch,

as the howler monkeys' deathly cry grows & grows,

and wonder if i am moving at all.

***

the longer i wait,

the longer Plath resonates--

[i think i made you up inside my head]

***

my life is funny--

each night i have sleepovers

with a sweet, random man:

construction worker, volunteer,

survivor, who's made it.

enamored with fishing,

his desert home,

indian warfare,

accidents.

we drink from dirty glasses

(in the night, the cucurachas

throw a party--i see them scrambling

in the morning

with the eggs)

i think life focused on investments,

retirement plans, the great divide

is a scary story

as he pokes at me for being so lost,

but now-

the sun climbed out after days of strong tears--

tears that took electric sockets so we could remember

to live with the land

tears that knocked a tree

on the house of Tao

so his books could be cleansed.

the hummingbirds' salsa

& my dirty, lost self

will take each moment with gratitude,

each bite on my body, doubt on my mind

and just be--

as i wander the garden of Tao.

***

my spanish is best with the children,

they are on my level,

delany, the nude 3-year old

i met in the ocean

we sat in shallow water

& played with the crabs,

their elusivity, our entertainment.

alejandra, the maid's daughter,

my closest nina,

we share a wildness of emotions,

and snacks.

***

throwing rocks at plastic bottles

the wasteland is wasting away,

soon, we will too.

***

bocas del toro,

dirty, spanish verision of venice.

can be oddly romantic,

fellow travelers look to fall in love,

on the candlelit pier

pure families outside the port town.

drunk taxi boat drivers,

dirty turquoise water,

& translucent waters of starfish beach

too beautiful to be touched, free

unlike the lobster in mesh bags,

the unreal clouds a spliff in the sky,

wild colors at sunset

over a wild jungle,

waves

in theit flavor-colored homes,

people are happier by the sea.

on bastimentios,

a neighbor isle,

i am one of five non-natives,

hike for hours in the jungle,

thick mud paths,

found petroglyphs,

to the beach with the piercing redfrogs.

beach hunger

of stray dogs

& children with machetes,

who want a pack of cheap ham.

i play poker,

cook for a family

in an unlocked pastel cabin

over the sea.

i escaped to the cloud forest in the mountains

where the deerflies roam freely,

& the men here stay forever, living on student loans.

where Boquete means blow job,

the nights are cool & calm

& filled with whiskey & warm stews.

Where the bulidings are painted yellow,

on the steep hill, trails

to the waterfalls, treasure hunts

for miles & miles.

“no kids, no debt, no drama”

the giggly panamanian

honeybear caretaker

starts the massage train

& we are off.

***

lost on the outskirts

there is nothing more satisfying & sensual

than being alone with the river.

men have been disappointing me,

with false friendships & mal intent,

i have to be alone--

open my legs only to the rapids

washing machine, pleasure in

singing the mating song

of prayer.

***

(bad) cravings from the worm

the hungover italian boy

working construction in the city

keeps me company at breakfast.

i taught him to put bananas in his pb&j

and it may have changed his life.

Panama City

vibrantly loud town--

the parties & streetpeople last all night,

and in the mornings, (Spanish) church bells blast

for all to hear (repent)--

angelic foreign voices praise gods

this cloudy Sunday

to wake me from dreaming

of smoking fruit loop blunts,

& having my child art sold for thousands

in the galleries.

families of blackbirds circle in the sky

on beat with the songs,

to attack the sinners,

or embody ascendance?

0 notes

lunarfae714 · 10 years

Text

appetizers for wanderers

The Fall in Eden

I found Eden after treading water

in the middle of a stream,

alone, far from home.

I looked at the arching willows that frame the river, I almost

swam to land, I almost

didn’t cross the rapids,

massive rapids, yet they grooved in the tune of a lazy river.

Someone painted the water cerulean blue

with white foam trapped in slow circles

after that first fall, like soda fizz or mouthwash spit out &

stranded in the washing machine.

After the rock drop,

Eden awaits.

She is a vast sea of still water.

She absorbs people who rejoice in the blue,

their arms dance, their laughter unheard over the fall.

All eyes ascend towards the mystic goddess

She towers us by hundreds of feet.

With every inhale,

Eden releases a new stream, births a unique life:

baptismal fount from the mouth of the river.

Its mist melts my skin as it touches my face,

the secret bath washes away my thoughts.

I drink the blue and it is the first sip after a night of heavy drinking,

after that moment when you spot the top of Sam’s Knob after the climb,

after a fast dance with a new stranger:

communion.

If I could go back to this place,

this wet, wondrous space,

I would do anything just to die.

the chicken

hops on the other side of the barbed wire

clutches the girl’s sad stare

the girl who is watched by her mother

dressed by her mother

taught what to say by her mother

who stands thirty yards behind, in the empty field of sand

drowns in a cherry-print dress, her black eyes scrunched like a squeeze-ball.

in the afternoon heat,

the kind of heat that makes each breath a marathon

the girl’s fists remain clamping the fence

with all the strength hidden in her skeletal frame.

and she will wonder why

a feathered bird will travel farther than she.

barnyard montage

a possum is smoking a cigarette

on top of a barn in the meadow.

inside the barn, a loaded sheepdog

releases her gut--

a batch of newborns creep out

their eyes still caked shut--

as the possum finishes his last drag,

i watch the trees in the yard stir,

they rise up

they walk away.

Enter the Apiary

I zip up the astronaut suit,

& I drop a cubed veil on my head.

I am the observer

behind a television of nets.

My partner is a teapot who twists.

My other partner is a pair of stained yellow gloves.

We enter the boxed colony and steam from my teapot

wakes clusters of plump insects--

they were aching

to dance.

I rub the rough edge of honeycomb,

I drain the visions of nectar.

When the day is over, I gather the jars,

amber sucrose, the pee-color concoctions.

In the kitchen, the timer aches

to sing as the clouds from the pumpkin loaves

sift through the room.

I hold my honey and I store my bread.

In the Kitchen

We have conditioned our housewives for destruction.

In the 50’s it began,

the years when we sucked them in aprons too-tight

made them short of breath just to show

the peach curves of their bodies,

We only saw them as luscious fruit

caked in the blackest lace.

Consider the vicious clawing

to grate aged cheddar in thin slits,

the gut grip around the edge of your fork

when you stab straight into the sweet potato

over & over again.

the crazed knife dance right into

the heart, the bulb of the onion,

the juice, the blood from the raw venison

splatters all over the kitchen floor.

They are an army in training.

Listen as they sharpen their knives,

the sound dark & sweet,

like a violin gone mad,

a chocolate bar with a hidden razorblade.

I can’t help but wonder,

Where are they going with this cutlery?

home

today i showered with a sister under the sun

& we tiptoed to the lake,

cool sand silked the soles of our feet.

we wore the heat on our skin

after months of piling on layers,

icing ourselves like a cotton cake.

now a crowd of nude brothers & sisters

tread banks of sand & fallen pollen.

Pops comes around the bend with a green canoe,

he takes us to the dock in the middle of the lake.

Pops, with his sunburnt skin of muscles and tales

names me goddess of the lake.

all of us hold a bit of the net

to catch fish through the hole in the dock.

we laugh because

this is how we are meant to be,

i find home in shared laughter with strangers,

not in walls that keep us away.

August 1992, Miami

Off the highway ramp to Miami,

clusters of cars perched like baby robins in treetops

some shimmied back and forth—ready to fly.

Telephone poles and oak trees did the tango ‘til they dropped.

Unwanted vomit, they spilled onto the grass and streets and

the twin palm trees from Carol’s backyard fell in a stupor into the inground pool.

Her favorite spot, her reading haven.

The sun, the only light, radiated in waves,

darkness to light to darkness.

Carol had phoned the bank earlier,

her untouched safe deposit box the reason for her trip.

She parks her Buick in the spot with the least ashes,

begins towards the bank

its scattered walls & teller’s desks now

piles of cement.

She eyes the security guard who sits in a grey folding chair near the entrance.

“How may I help you, ma’am?” the words exit his lips as if it’s another work day.

She tells him her business, and starts towards the back, but triggers the guard...

“Enter through the front door, ma’am!” Her feet guess at the old location,

she gathers her savings, leaves out “the door” and

a sharp smile crosses the guard’s face like a crescent moon.

A crescent moon that will never wax or wane.

signs

i read the sign on the wall,

trace worn, beige corners

of stained, manmade words,

like braille, these six words

with the paint-stained pads

of my fingertips.

silent objects, cold copper posts

on roadends, bite-sized amber lights

shaped like a cigarette on an airplane,

triplets of ovals that guide your foot on the pedal

& yellow beckons you to make rash choices:

cross me. smoke me.

terrorize me.

who writes the monologues for walls?

my walls of celery speak for themselves:

this house is powered by tacos.

phantoms

that evening when I lay

for a nap until midnight,

I left the house lights blazing,

all doors cracked open

as my tabby-cat chews

on the ends of my hair

on my bed.

midnight comes & goes with ease,

the cycle of my saliva waterfalls

begins, watercolor

on the pillowcase,

my breath deepens with moonrise.

as the hour enters the darkest point of night

the lights in the hall panic-- seizure:

they dance on & off with indecision.

there is no one else in my home

yet someone is here.

her atoms tug my chest

in-between dream & light,

half-cracked eyes & a heart of speed,

i levitate to meet the spirit

face-to-face

hers, the vintage frame of a Lichtenstein

in shadows,

a talking head

i can’t hear a word

all i see is a mouth in motion.

Can I borrow your mouth so I can kiss your cat like you do,

make a ham sandwich and taste the veins,

whisper melodies that share my miseries?

Pt. II

i felt them again in the hummingbird room,

above the feeders in the old mountain home,

the room with its thick window that shows

swaying shagbark branches winding up for a fight,

and the high window that lets me stare

at the waxing gibbous,

when the clouds let us catch a glimpse of her.

spirits came in through computer screens

in the invisible attic

but the Lightweaver

sent them away.

Pt. III

wafting smokerings of white sage

when i cleanse the room doorways in my home

to let 3am’s phantoms dissipate

into unseen pathways

reliving still moments--

same smoke filled the same lungs

in Allegheny woods in Pennsylvania,

when Jesus grazed his wand of burning sage

across my torso

down my thighs

to open myself to whispers of Love from human angels--

or in bed with a past lover, our chests stirred upright

from the old-lady ghost in her long prairie-dress

that outlined her floating frame,

she, the emitter of jostled confusion, of japan’s mah

wafting is witchcraft,

mesmerizing & waking

still moments of memory through the mirror,

it is knowing what the cat stares at

when he sees something you can’t.

spirits travel in those shadows

i waft, since the smoke knows not to linger

Concatenation on the Full Moon

in the blackhole parking lot (you will never find your car or your sanity)

the ketchup-stained pool table from

the Cheers bar you practically live at

the despised dentist chair,

with its navy cushions & recliner

falsely beckoning for you to be poked by metal

the airplane that frequents underground tunnels

or the ocean with killer whales at the shoreline

you pick up the spike that sits in the lot at the gas station

to save us from an imagined crash.

you handle the wolf spider of pure snow

climbing your thigh.

you gaze wide-eyed as

that dentist whips out his pliers:

bi-annual torture that pays

for all that touched your saliva:

lovers, berries, wine, gluttony.

you stand by the shore as the bluewhale vacuums up your brother like a dust bunny.

you transform the plane into a dive bar,

throw the airplane bottles of Skyy vodka

to all the passengers so they don’t

notice when you go down.

you watch the first bite in the cherry tomato:

the teeth settle into the plump yellow flesh

fangs puncture the skin & seeds turn to fleas--

you watch it again & again, in slow motion, on repeat.

you walk down the aisles in the grocery store

under florescent ceilings, canned goods explode

as you pass, a blackbean rain.

but the ladies in line for blackberry pie

squeal when you forget to take a number.

share the closed-eye visions,

these untold stories are

cobwebs of our collective mind.

Stink Eye

I am sentenced to stay here

in the pockets of your face.

I know you don’t consider me much,

as if I’m not working away

flipping reality into headstands,

painting the images that swim

through the streams of your memory.

You have taken me to

dark places: apartments with thick, thick smoke

that stains your sweater for days

when you sleep in the guest bedroom

with tonight’s stranger from the bar,

the underground bar with toilets

caked with scum, or

those bedrooms with too many

moving, naked parts that rub &

hand over drunken disease.

I will sit and be sour

in my God-given pocket.

You will stroke that raw pork

in your freezer, then stroke me.

You will be sorry.

nightmare

in evening suburbia,

a piss-stained moon huddles overhead

to brood over rows & rows of carbon copy homes.

the moon’s glare stains the sky,

the air is a blanket of bristles.

i am on the street, calloused soles

brush chrome cement.

as i pass an empty lot, animated

with a rainbow of ripe fruits

on Saturday’s market, now grey and aching.

i hear a soft mumur,

see Ania’s forested Suburu swarm in to scoop me,

her window lowers and i see her eyes,

held wide with fear settled in the irises, as if piranhas are secretly

gnawing her legs there,

its not funny.

come quick, she squeals at me as I jump inside

onto milky mildew seats, she

never stops driving,

on the street, a man expands into

a monstrous pterodactyl like an Anamorphs novel

he chases us, i feel his pull from behind,

inside dark matter,

as he rides atop a pickup truck

i am latched to the back of the Suburu, surrendering.

the beast sprays a mist, a potion that

makes me feel like melting, like a hit of a heavy opiate,

the dark, ethereal pull, a lovestruck teen on an apathy ride,

i become a useless solider,

ania is left alone to fight the man.

where are we?

in the kitchen of an uninfected family,

their pink lips warn us of grandmothers that wander into homes

with five-dollar bills, they ask you to take them to the theater--

but if you barely trace the bill,

their white hair will dissipate into scaly skin, the demonic eyes

won’t leave your memory.

tennessee summer

at the pigeon river in tennessee,

we pass the days wading in blowup tubes

we are snakes who creep in kayaks of foreigners

who paddle backwards, they are already wobbling, just

asking to be pushed.

in the night our bodies turn, our minds turn into the realm

of distant narratives

in our small wooden rooms

with creaky doors, with walls of purple paint,

with putrid air of a dead rodent, really

a bag of rotten potatoes that summoned the love interest, aroused

pools of fast squealing maggots-- such

a delicious cleanup.

The American Dream

you climb the tower of the fun-house

house-party, the tilted stairways

with rooms full of mirrors & faces of Marilyn,

with rooms full of mattresses.

Then

you can hide behind the thick stage curtain

in the attic with your Patrick &

suck thick white bumps &

forget about missing your shift today

sleeping ‘til ten in the eve.

you walk to the Russian bakery

down rickety stone streets, or

take a flying car in your drunken state,

grab the 35 cent puff pastries

of cream, yoghurt & mint

from under the glass ceiling.

Then

you succeed,

drowning in body pleasure.

You have earned your residency.

Apocalypse Dreams

Pt. I

a hand full of familiar strangers--mixed

with recent guests of my flat

(like the faerie friend with the voice of a man,

the proud & queer Ms. Bobo-Dancy herself,

who taught me how to glitter everyone

in the dance hall)

we come together to swim.

we tread water in canals, naked

along the European street,

framed by pastel towers,

easter-egg homes.

untouched elation sits in our chests,

a rare & extraordinary organ.

our legs tango in cyclic waves,

we do the dead fish

float in the rising water.

our bodies are carried

right to a high school gymnasium.

the dance takes our legs

down the stairs, down

descending ceilings, to the blue mats in the basement

where we pull our limbs out &

the blonde lady in front guides the flow--

then

Sirens shriek in routine breaths, they are

the alarm we prepared to disregard in school drills

dirt smoke rushes down the stairs to play tag,

my eyes dash, no doors,

all the fibers in my thighs work together to perform the sprint,

across the tiled floor, up the crowded stairs

flames rule the spiral staircase

i suck in air as i rush against the cloud of grey, the block.

fellow stretchers surround me, i reach the door in time but

i look back. i am lot’s wife.

i look back.

i watch the orange killer strike--

in one motion, he absorbs the school

the girls behind me on the stairs

become walking bodies of fire.

Pt. 2

Tonight we are at the ocean,

the boy from Budapest, my father, & I.

We stand on the shore

as waves gently turn with the aid of the Moon.

It is winter, yet the ocean is bathwater

under Midnight’s sky, under the rickety boardwalk,

We push off into deep water.

The boy points at the scarlet seahorse latched on my arm like a tattoo,

Through clear water, I watch a stingray swarm &

chase me back to the sand,

my heartbeat faster than my ankles.

The sand starts to growl,

the Earth hiccups,

sonic thunder,

it vomits seawater,

only over the ocean,

I am untouched.

But the boardwalk,

it acts like a sewer

The waterrushes through its pipes &

I see one man on the walk,

a tall, dark-haired stranger with a top hat, suitcase & a story

The water sweeps him up

and he drops straight down,

his bottom plops onto the shore

and his arms fall right off like a plastic doll with removable parts.

A smile strikes his face,

The satisfaction of a future in disability funds?

His suitcase is out of sight, and

I’m sitting in a kitchen with purple walls and a shag green carpet,

yawning at the apocalypse.

Wednesday Eyes

The chrome half-moons

under your eyes grew darker

that morning,

layered,

like moon’s cycle at nightfall.

The wrinkles on your

forehead were defined then

from the unwelcome light

that enters through

these basement windows.

You stumbled to your countertop,

where I watched your face do the snakeroll

with snorts,

your heavy eyes closed shut

your body gave its last shrug.

I carried the old man to his bed,

placed cold water on the envelope of his lips

and lay with him,

pretending to sleep as

his bones rested on my soft skin,

his beer breath snores

were like smoke on my face.

I can see now

why he stirred me away.

My young eyes

earned their glasses that day.

rendering of love on a tuesday:

reaching in to seize my heart from my chest

& handing it over to my daughter, sophia

cupped through soft, gentle palms

‘til her womb plays the role of a maker

& molds a new heart, births a new creature.

the picture of tangled, honeyed thighs,

skin crinkled and peppered with spots made of stories

soft cackles singing in an otherwise quiet room

they will never grow mold.

dogwood mail

driving south to see

trees in bloom

after a night of sleeping in the snow

& letting the hail beat my face,

is like seeing color for the first time.

i am the wick of a candle--

ignited by vernal sun,

the light shows the beauty in strangers

like red-haired, shirtless Steven

whose eyes blazed

the picture of an olive on fire,

gold & green twists in circles

in his irises, like magic

no wonder the warm blood of new loves is harvested in this season.

at blood rock on the parkway,

i spy front seat fever

in the car next to mine,

i watch heads disappear

into the laps of their lovers,

a wave of pollination:

the lovers mimic the sassafras,

romanced by spicebush swallowtail,

winged creatures kiss buds,

birth sherbet.

in these woods,

the wind of untouched silence

numbs my fingertips with a warmth

in a way a person never could.

i am not alone, sitting

by the glasshouse over the lake.

the bloom of new cycles

in the ancient--

what was always there,

like lovers that are always within,

reflections of who you want to be each moment.

dogwoods crack open

they carry us to the forest where all trails lead to

treehouses,

they wait for us.

Cave Games

When we sit at the long picnic tables,

twenty of us with our big toes in the ocean,

at the shore by the cave, we get

rowdy with our drinking, fling cups in the air

in rotation, thrown high and low and

our shit beer dirties the water and Clay

beside me wears his heavy winter coat and he

helps me tie my hiking boots, bunny ears

style, and awkward incest thoughts run through our heads

and we touch thighs and we lose balance, lose the game

and tumble off the bench into the shallow water

beside that cave where Cyclops

sits and chuckles at our folly.

messages from the mountain sanctuary

rows & rows of rooms without windows.

scariest thought:

the business of carrying your mind into the future.

when you can’t

see the dancing loblollies right in front of your face,

taste the skin of your newest lover,

smell the burning cedar

in the ancient potbelly stove

that heats every room of the wood cabin.

let go of everything:

shape your body into an empty mug,

pour into yourself

the coffee of this moment:

it is always brewing.

View from the Streetcar

I remember looking through the window,

into a forest where bright colored hammocks

hung in trees in abundance--

ripe fruit in a fresh street market,

they are canopies full of hard covered books.

I saw only hammocks in this forest,

hammocks holding books that must be tired from not being read,

from watching people in their homes, on their screens,

with fingers that no longer fondle the soft corners of worn pages with patience,

noses that no longer take in the sweet cologne of an aged tale

that has traveled over many seas, held by many shades of hands,

of ancestors who scribbled first reactions

in the margins, in smeared lead.

These hard covers have traveled the full cycle, back to their mother trees.

I remember seeing the books, thinking

that was enough to bring flavor back to my throat.

seductive decay

i dream of the river,

of appalachian townies wandering in wet grass on the banks.

they circle the folding-tables with masks on display

to purchase like a van gogh piece.

a mask of an old person’s face,

cartoon-like, goofy,

like comic characters in the funny pages.

masks of rubbered wrinkles with bulging eyes

whiskered ears that never stop growing,

attached by a thin strip of elastic.

old age attracts the masses of river folk,

for it’s hard to fake being wise

when you’re forced to think for years.

a mid-spring winter

there is a battle in the sky--

hemispheres in armor

split by a jagged line:

the smoke of a storm marches on the left field

hard whistles slide through the maze of bamboo stalks,

stalks forced to samba back & forth.

unseen soliders batter the many windchimes of the home

tambourines being torn apart.

roars grow from the chicken coop,

the music of the moment

an unrehearsed orchestra on speed.

the doors on the porch swing wildly,

wrestled by the armies of ghosts,

each creak in the bamboo treehut is a war horn,.

the place aches in

new kinds of movement,

like a new actor just fighting to be heard.

the other half of sky is peaceful, silent

the remaining glow peaks through turquoise sheets,

until it is torn out of bed.

such a beautiful haunting to the sanctuary.

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