bystander
high-beamed lights
pass you
seemlessly
your saddened
face
flickered
the red, silken
moon
watched above
your buggie
with too many
bags
we shouldn’t
get used
to this
Sirens call out to sirens
in a language only they speak. My feet
feel an unusual gravity; attraction to the floor,
sinking. We understand
that language, some (even) try to shape it:
mouths, tongues
lungs emptying gouts of air
while so many start drowning. I think barefoot
would be better; but the nights, still cool
disagree. Eyes tear from hours listening
to livestreams, to silences somewhere
punctuated, but invisible.
Trying to walk in darkness;
balance gone unsteady
for the lack
of florescence. Lips part, the keen
a mimicry
this animal language trying to eclipse
machine.
Drawing down the moon
gravity sways her red tides
surging trance-like dance
A goddess awakes
as sweet scents of vanilla
lingers on the breeze
Skyclad moon rite
silver pentacle shines in
monochrome moonlight
Stregheria spells
casting shadows on mankinds
glory, a pompous blight
Selenes night sky kiss
celestial queen, granting
invocations sight
Dianas embrace
an archetypal warrior
teacher of the craft
Hecates domain
underworld sorceress
necromancers plants
Strega made potions
Hecates botany gifted
indigo visions
A seven-day trip
three before lunar light bled
three after it set
Drawing down the moon
gravity sways her red tides
surging trance-like dance
Stregheria spells
altered consciousness blooming
in lunar gardens
The sway of the trees
The flow of the water
The sun peeking over the mountains
The squish of sand between your toes
No service
Alone with yourself
Or surrounded by people
There for a good time
Nature will cleanse your soul
Give you a purpose,
And keep you going
Get out there and feel free.
I remember
Easy Street,
Bull Bay,
Jamaica,
Campari and Orange
on my breath.
I remember
faded paint
on the walls
and a cigarette
glow outside in
the distance.
There was
an Indian
shopkeeper
inhaling
Jamaican
Ganja.
There was
a young girl
in a torn
red dress,
with a ribbon
in her hair.
I could not sleep.
I understand the
open-mouth
awe-struck
fangirls
screaming
for their celebrity savior
The painless freedom
of loving the
unobtainable
Preteen fangirl
walls garnished
with cutouts
from Tiger Beat
BOP & J-14
I took my mother’s hand
as we strode down the hall
and into my bedroom
to reveal four walls
of celebrity
Not an inch of wall to spare
Twenty-two
and still a fangirl
I sit sweaty in the seat
of a tattoo artist
grinning as he agrees
to mark my body
with the face of
James Baldwin
smoking a cigarette
Fangirl for life
I scream
from my bedroom window
I’ve found the fountain of youth
and it shines
like glitter
It started like all puffs from a cigarette do
it was a lazy evening nothing happening
until she came
hey can I bum a sig off you, she said
three words in
and i was already pulling one out of the pack
she was someone new to my out of focus world
awestruck by her ease as she laid the enchantment
I gave her the lucky like any good magician would
the spell was set so we made small talk
to appease the gods of the buzz
not knowing if we could
or just maybe should
eventually get ours
I am partially a product
of many amazing humans
beginning sentences
with the phrase,
“I’m not supposed
to tell you this, but…”
and if it weren’t
for those moments
and those tidbits of
“forbidden” knowledge
imparted upon me
that opened my mind
and shaped my heart,
I’m not sure who
I would be now.
