Thursday, February 22, 2018

womb healing.

baby medusa.

death, old girl, i didn't know that surrendering you
would bear consequence.

had i accepted my being pushed to the edge, i would've
seen you under your robes
and accepted myself as your lover,

thereby jumping off a cliff. becoming yours forever.

however, since i resigned as your messenger- turned my back
and called myself "survivor", i continue onward
with the same beak of the same vulture-

only now, only half of me locates meat.
the other half does not own up to it.

this split role makes itself clear
in the swirling, blurry landscape of ghosts
that i shuffle through.

i am both the spiral
and the slash that cuts through it;

the sage
and the body that does not heal from it.

the expecting woman
and the stillborn she carries.

suicide hotline operator
and her caller.

for several days i had eaten bulbs of garlic
to rid my mouth of your taste. your body, being

a fruit i deemed indigestible, i filled
my palms with, offering

it to the sky.
all the bats i'd ever known dove in, juices
dripping on their furs and mine alike, juices

squishing about in their mouths
like they hit the fucking jackpot
and like it didn't fucking bother me. bats

dropped dead all over me, wings
cocooning me, telling me

i'm safe, as in there's nothing left to see
is how i interpreted it.

and if i had goosebumps,
i attributed it to the cold wind.

at this point my mind had accepted the embrace
of its nagging critic

that believes only in one correct approach toward science.

the expatriates.

it was a place of parallel trees, their lives
filed out in exhile where we walked too alien to know
our sameness and how our sameness survives.

love, whatever it was, an infection.

Death's a sad Bone; bruised, you'd say,

and yet she waits for me, year after year,
to so delicately undo an old wound,
to empty my breath from its bad prison.

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

cliff notes.

What those in the West view as mental illness, the Dagara people regard as “good news from the other world.”  The person going through the crisis has been chosen as a medium for a message to the community that needsto be communicated from the spirit realm.  “Mental disorder, behavioral disorder of all kinds, signal the fact that two obviously incompatible energies have merged into the same field,” says Dr. Somé.  These disturbances result when the person does not get assistance in dealing with the presence of the energy from the spirit realm.

[...]we in the West are not trained in how to deal or even taught to acknowledge the existence of psychic phenomena, the spiritual world.  In fact, psychic abilities are denigrated.  When energies from the spiritual world emerge in a Western psyche, that individual is completely unequipped to integrate them or even recognize what is happening.  The result can be terrifying.  Without the proper context for and assistance in dealing with the breakthrough from another level of reality, for all practical purposes, the person is insane.

[...] In the Dagara tradition, the community helps the person reconcile the energies of both worlds–“the world of the spirit that he or she is merged with, and the village and community.”  That person is able then to serve as a bridge between the worlds and help the living with information and healing they need.  Thus, the spiritual crisis ends with the birth of another healer.

[...]The spirits are drawn to people whose senses have not been anesthetized.  “The sensitivity is pretty much read as an invitation to come in,” he notes.
Those who develop so-called mental disorders are those who are sensitive, which is viewed in Western culture as oversensitivity.  Indigenous cultures don’t see it that way and, as a result, sensitive people don’t experience themselves as overly sensitive.  In the West, “it is the overload of the culture they’re in that is just wrecking them,” observes Dr. Somé.  The frenetic pace, the bombardment of the senses, and the violent energy that characterize Western culture can overwhelm sensitive people.

Sunday, February 11, 2018

"though i own so much of this land, i find the country insufferable.

Thursday, February 8, 2018

this has been me, i feel it

needing to be released, and
yet not being ready for it. feeling

like a sissy for that shit- and i'm

still hunting after all, hunting for

power that's not mine
anymore- probably
never really was.

a hawk came and circled above me
to see what i was up to.
the next day, which is
today, there were two- vultures now, brother and sister.
ghosts of a former self

who'd gone away to steal parts of me
i'd pushed into the future.

best to bring home to mom and dad.

Saturday, February 3, 2018


i'm seeing so many things, see things
coming to a boil, the unnerving nightmare
i exhile

popping up like something extremely improper
others don't want to see

popping up on my dick, my pussy lips,
my lower face- i pick at it

the end of the world
doesn't hold a candle to this shit

i feel around, noticing i've lost my head
ah yes look there's my head
mounted on the wall of a saloon
which is in other worlds a spider's web

home of my almightly stalker
who eats me alive while
taking me in as her daughter-

the only thing that can get me to come.

i see the incest in it all, so disturbed by it
that it makes me wonder how
my heart is so strong.

i see myself without my shield
without my bow
without my arrow
facing off with a bear
ten foot faggot that doesn't feel things
of course is gonna hand me my ass on a silver platter-

i see that allowing myself
to be killed in this manner
is the key to liberation,

this birth being also
my death.
i keep prolonging both.