It all started with a walk through a graveyard.
We came to sprinkle glitter,
we came to ring the claw bells,
we came to read the eroded epitaphs on 200 year old tombstones.
Instead we found a “working” aimed at killing someone.
A black bird without a head.
Lopped clean off.
Some kind of voodoo.
Consecrated with a dark blessing by a tombstone.
Naturally we took the bird home.
Laid it out back in the freeze.
It was a “working” aimed at killing someone.
A santera over on east King street informed us of the details.
Told us to burn it and take a sweet bath.
Told us to put water next to the door to catch the demons off our shoes,
tracking in all the demons off the street.
I put water next to my bed to catch the demons in my sleep.
I wondered to myself just what exactly was going on.

A cat got to the bird before we could
but it left us the wings by the fence in the yard.
Monica stretched them open and now they are drying in the garage.
A set of wings to fan the smoke once we light the sage on fire.
I didn’t have a good feeling.
I wanted to burn the black bird.
I wanted to stop the “working”.
I wanted to leave a green pumpkin for Oshun by the waterside.
But instead I only watched it lying on the leaves
out back under a tree
from the kitchen window each time I did the dishes.
Then one morning it was gone,
but I didn’t say anything.
I thought about other things until I saw
the stretched wings in the garage,
until I pulled the Raven card from
the Oracle deck.
Black birds came to visit me.
I was advised I better start getting crafty.
I had been diligent with the water by the bed.
I purified the demons with the singing bowl every morning.
I bless my demons in the water so they don’t use
my mouth to scream
and my eyes to cry.
But the raven came to see me still.
The one without a head, and the one in the oracle deck.
And the ones that fly around the power lines outside where I walk,
cawing and cackling in a crooked ******.

Fancied myself a priest
baptized by the Holy Spirit
home of the Sacred Feminine.
Found myself screaming in hysterics like a little boy in his blanket
after he's told nothing shall be as it was.
So much for the priest hood.
So much for the New Earth.
I pulled the Tower Card.
And that,
along with the ravens
and old man Saturn…
I had never been so afraid for my body in my life.
Now we walk around town and find bird heads on the sidewalk.
Starlings, and a little wren.
I learned my demon’s name is John and that he stands behind me.
Big and wooly like a wild thing on two legs.
He doesn’t fit in a glass of water
so I brought him to the Lemon Street Cemetery
and said bon voyage.
Buried him by a gravestone tree stump and said the prayer of two deaths.
The walk home smelled like ginkgo nuts
and the dust from the crumbing of the Tower hasn’t settled yet.
Now it’s as if I've been inoculated.
I lost my sense of taste for a week and didn’t break a sweat.
I’ve pulled the rug out from under my own
two feet so many times
that if I don’t learn to levitate
my poor tailbone won’t have a chance to heal.
Home of the root
Abode of the World Serpent.
I wasn’t prepared for what was awoken within me
that day up in the promised land,
and it's been climbing my spine ever since.
Now I bless the water by my bedside every night
in case John comes back to roost.

I cover my floors with happy feet
I paint the walls with candle light
I light frankincense and tie prayers to the smoke
I watch them float to heaven
I ring a singing bowl
I put the demons in the water and I drink them.

I feel everything, and nothing at once.
Sadness: that others seem to always
Stand with their back to me, and
Sorrow: for the indifference
That lies in my heart.
Walk away,
And with each step that widens your gait,
Run.

Reach escapes velocity, and
Pull yourself from my gravity.
Like a white hole I repel
All good natures from my orbit.
A perpetually scarred surface, from
Periodic collisions.
The heavens send their vessels,
Like tears raining from the sky.
Only to be burned up in my atmosphere.

Christmas, Yuletide, Noël, Nativity, Saint Nicholas, Mary, Prancer,
Santa, Elves, Yule Log, Eggnog, Reindeer, Turkey, Presents, children,
Birthday, Bells, Jesus, pumpkin pie, Navidad, Kriss Kringle, Dasher
Ornaments, stockings, sugarplums, Holidays, caroling, gifts, Comet
Christmas Eve, Scrooge, cranberry sauce, sleigh bells, Rudolph,
Christmas lights, Cinnamon Apple spice cider, wassail, Angels, list,
Christmas tree, Blitzen, Mrs. Claus, tinsel, jolly, snowflake, Dancer,
Blitzen, North Pole, snowman, wreath, candy cane, gingerbread,
Merry Christmas!

Why so many people imitate
the same popular things
that people did
and the one reason
I only get that they want to become
as popular as them,
and here I am writing
that they don't know,
or vice versa.

Is that called creativity?

It's the simple things I think I'd miss
The highlighters and neatly organized notes
The colored pens and the loose-leaf papers
The animals and the food
Raindrops on windows
The crunch of snow
Sun hitting my skin
And a fresh summer breeze

What is the deal with boundaries
When it comes to the things we love,
Why is it inexhaustible and all-consuming-
how do we make it stop?