Advice Column

The Kachina dance-whispered in my ear,
Ancestor news-radio style,
steady-voiced commands you must take special care to hear
My personal postal service…

and through the cacophony, sights and sounds modern,
She gushed, like freshly machete’d melons,
“Wait for it, it’s coming.”

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Last Best Time

The Bell Jar has nothing on the bell state, (Though some outcomes seem random, they usually aren't) knowing that each quibit of us, DNA, RNA, Nano-possibilities exists on this plane separate but so very connected. ...That if we had just arraigned our equations for the right outcome, it could have been. But is there even a right and left in reflection? (I still touch my hand to yours from the other side of the mirror, every day) We live outside of the entanglement, decoupled. detached. The theory of us greater than any spirit, But it's just theory And can be applied to anyone, so it should seem...
Read more

Organic Chemistry, Graduate Edition

Eternal sunshine  Scrubbed clean mind  I’d forgotten To remember  To forget you,  human.  I always thought you just  Beyond (or behind) my reach  A path they could never teach  To a case like mine, Too guarded,  Nope. No time.  Me? Just one step from good enough  I ran up awkward,  winding staircases medieval structures  fashioned like torture devices, where you can easily  miss a step  and scrape your knee.  A tower prison  where the cursed are locked away  With thoughts like these…  What I should’ve said, When I saw you again,  was please  Let me stay  and I won’t go up those stairs.  The Now I’m living simply isn’t right Neither is yours.   If I had Said the words caught in my throat,  …Choking on obligation, Time would have solidified  Exactly where it should have In our before times The spiced chill I crave would have gently  tingled alive, timur on the tongue, Like sleep waking just before chrysalis With you,  holding me around the waist A cocoon.   If only I could stay. There. B
Read more

Wolves

Image
I am down to looking at your profile every other day on a good week, Maybe once daily in a bad one (But it’s probably more) In the moments I miss you most, I hope for your safe passage to every iteration of who you will become In the moments I hate you most for leaving me, I choose to simply understand why I have bought into the lie Signed and sealed The nothing lie, the one sold to women like me by men like him I am nothing Nothing I do matters There is nothing that could be better for me than him (When I know the best is always you) The swamp is dry and cool and I lay on rotted moss, Grabbing at it until it becomes dust, a handshake with the inevitable, Waiting for the river to rise, So that the rocks in my pocket are claimed by the wolf again Where freedom might be... a darkness where your face, Mouth, and embrace can’t be remembered.
Read more