i and i wept
by the waters of Knoxville
remembering Zion
repatriation, what a notion
slowly, we came to our senses

the brave new world
closing in around us
we sought our refuge
at the doors of perception

timothy leary and
Marcus Garvey
were on a bad trip
together one day
when it began to snow outside
like grace
from heaven, falling
i was there with them
the angel of death

my thanatalivity
is all i know now
i will make it
to the end

i am in the lowest of the abyss
that whilst i struggle to resurrect to bliss
i know someone has been whispering to me
in celebration of my failure to Thee

i come in white, wavering across my body
well-aware that i am no longer worthy
i struggle a fight in the darkness
but today, I insist I win.

I burn **** between my lips.
one by one.
******* them down with skill.
Skull to lungs,
ashes to ashes.
I am the smoke of myself that  
gathers deep inside
and prowls out, darkly
like faceless men at night
sunken in city pavement,  
pacing towards desire.
And so the word saunters and spirals,
clouding upwards
from my red hot tongue.
I watch it as it leaves me.
I lick my lips of the sting,
and ash drips on my shoe.
I take a deeper breath.
and look ahead.
perhaps smiling,
perhaps darkly.
As it twists itself into nothingness,
sinking headlong,  
like the private history that it is,
into the ignorant, pretty sky above.

Ever feel like the ceiling and floor are squeezing you in the in between space?
The past just wont let you rest...
The present seems empty with the missing pieces of the past.
Glimmers of happiness keep you on the edge...
Chains tugging,
Inner demons fighting,
Trying to resist and not succumb.

You crave and yet resist those things; that take you from what's good, 'till something better takes another other and seems again anew
How often times the image thought supreme to it's ideal
Tryin to change one to form another "other" that seems again anew
Are you another one of my symbols?
Is this another one of my images?
Archetypes they tell me and I'm somewhere in between

I refuse to be imprisoned by them;
Formed in a spring of meaning
And specificity;
Then gradually
Sculpted, sanded and smoothed
In the oppressive surf of banality.

Woman. Wife. Mother.
Genius. Fat. Beautiful.
Liberal. Conservative.

I won’t let them
Bend me at the waist
Bow my head
Contort my arms

Define me.

Instead I return to the spring

plunge in

dissolve


emerge



a mist.