originally published on November 9 2018
Psychal
a moon piling between two legs, let me
dwell on their lycanthropy.
i screw over after punches and remember nothing
of what the hood-men leave
scrambled there: sugared wrappers youth’s
bold simmered head of a cotton
mouth, there is blood, and mine, spore that isn’t
home or whole, so hidden it is un-questionable.
i imagine Self in this bad expanse
all loba, loosely scorned, too false-ly
lustful and slashing.
i want to feed them fully and rise up as what I feed.
Monsoon
the rut of the road deep and dry
tongue like cracked mud and then the monsoon of you
drowned my mouth in star milk and moon honey
and now every cell sweats to breathe
my tongue a torrent of wet longing
Religion
Body is the only holy
and to kiss is prayer.
Honey on tongue
is sacrament to the senses.
Breasts are of the goddess, and belly
is the temple- embers burn and divinity sleeps.
I am hungry to feed minds
and cries by fire
mind be body
mind be kiss
mind be honeyed tongue
mind be breasts
mind be blood
mind be belly infinite
flame and flesh
as one.
Fire in the snake’s eye
snake in the fire’s belly
is the only way
to heaven.
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