Six for Wednesday – 1


I push your soul in deep,

so deep it bulges at the margins.

Nothing is clear but wonder,

that moment when magic expels

the wrong from the essential.

I have nothing monetary,

nothing collectible or extractable

but I’d be willing to exchange

one seething heart for another.

I am neither woman nor man.

I am neither sick nor wholesome.

What I am cannot be named.

A language of virgins,

of macula burned raw

what use are wiles in spreading affection?

Humans with their monuments and entitlements

are only vessels, lozenges plucked

from the tongue of the Great Mother.

I am that something

which exists only to justify belief,

the spider-like hands

vanishing around the corner.

Bred of hate,

I too can love

though I do not understand

the customs and costumes

employed by man.

I too live,

though my blood

seldom flows

and when it does

it comes as tar,

thick and shadowy,

churning in silence

like a swarm of eels.

not totally happy with this piece yet


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