In August the sounds of locusts are primroses or psychopomp, which do you dare~
In August I dream of the bay, cotton candy mute of clouds into shelf-wells of water walls gather and collecting the dream of themselves above or ahead, the just out of reach sky. If that is thunder, it cracks open the galaxies, this the time the galaxies are hung with the dead, the dead are bones pure tan as the luxury of sea worn trees, rootless and rooted in excess, we the walking sinners our delicacies, our greed. Do you feel the ancient wolfcraft, hunger do you heed? The whiny, heady sweaty call~
I did. The Mayan spot. Jungle jungular jugular jaguar possession, bereft. The cement sacrifice blocks, the hot heat, hotness, lusty specs. Specs! That’s a storm coming and tar fields, & Valkyries & what does she, HAG WOMXN, Cave Sex, know? All rest, all hail, all hell, born forth. Forked tail. When one of the Mysteries gals reJourneys us there I am wonderstruck, but no longer in awe. Dragon. Heart. This the only wile that makes sense, the wild. The bioregion place/s multiverse —all love and cries towards pacnorthwestern tree vile forests, and Beth– within. Should this decree shake loose dust lost and loser free, shake lose the rest of Un/Seen~
Go with it, that is who we’ve come here to be.
This moon 6 yrs ago I am driving driving to LA driving w diPrima driving w poet priestess drawl driving the fetid concrete crawl, pause, pause paused. The veggies in E.V.E.’s back yard, the chalk board wall. The icon vision, the plans. Later same 24 the traffic outside Oceanside, the bluegreen mist of military base and end of 405. The dinner party I first read cards. I had nothn to give. Tears and burnt ritual herbs on the charcoal burner from Kat. Mother Mary pyres, prayers for all deceased. Mike Brown dead in the streets. On street activists tear gassed by the National Guard for passive crisxcrosxapplsauce. In the fall we drew applehoney down. Protest violence. Protest VIOLENCE. Protest? Violence? The shadow of our Fall
of our ALL, us
U.S. third eye vision, that one time I spent a summer in the national forests unshowered in a tent her rumble rattle her rattle rumble protect/n my one slish slashd violent eye. Crow eye, tangled, crisxcrosx, unDone
What? is there to Say? To come?
We swam out in Bayside prayer water a 1/4 mile, it was never deeper then my knees, hot as bath water, the brine sour sweet. The mud muck funk, the giggles, like meat. There shoulda been black where were our teeth. Me, the babe mermaids, we~
Little one cut her big toe on barnacle beat.
she seaWitch, eye of the Deep
in all things, jungular & briney, sour, sweet,
PINNNNK> > > f r e s h
i love you godmother,
to you i sing