Viewing entries tagged
women

coven

late lunch & one last mission, the threads are ready for our braiding

no more fending off the wild dogs; we’ve reached our weekend covenstead


we sit in circle, cense our space, chakras opening, intentions set,

postures more mindful, all eyes gentle, eclectic witches ready to begin

vibrations roll before smoky voices, we take our turns


rented glass walls cannot contain impending soft sob

wails, we picnic beneath the kind of trees & muted stars

the taiwanese city won’t afford


lush tropics against the white panes, we from our countries and our continents

linking this tongue in a foreign scape to call & cradle

universal strengths


white pillows, storied crystals, black clothes & bodies brushed

grass beneath us, mats, decks, speakers, games,

potions portioned, glasses filled, testaments & sage


we took our borrowed broom, teetering along unknown outline rice paddies

we had thought we’d reach the ocean, but we’re all

one another needs


smudged and elevating, we initiated narratives

witnessing generational culminations

in crises pulling us taut


communal kitchen morning, red wax leftovers,

time lent for external give back

now cleansing work

concoctions and methods shared

the return nostalgic, ending in black capped

pressure & a soak


among our coven so it was, and is, and will be

it has become written—we reconvene this thursday

on a full moon’s eve

tarot readings & electronic beaches

tarot readings & electronic beaches

substances over substantiality has been for a time

the modus operandi; i draw and select of pentacles—queen,

i enter the sand battling barefooted, searching for my dark woman

 

there wigged women shuffle black sand toes

knees knifing, elbows bowed against

tautly turning bellies harnessing hope

 

mostly ignoring rhythmic knowledge, i am found

searching for men with dramatized eyes,

a black night fronds and silver stars aesthetic

 

i am found beneath a wig, a pretension, and a problem—

the people climb imaginary walls, wriggling for some eyes only, but

compliments from jeweled crown women lull ego to perception

 

the moths' wings drowned in urine and sweat

bland colored creatures struggle on blue plastic embossment

lest we slip and land on our backs pathetically writhing in tune

 

and too sand slips from the wide eyed feign’s lamenting hand

i spit small balls of mugwart leaf, blood purging out in retribution

still blinded by sandstorm beards & salt hips covered in patterns saccharine

 

kisses under cold wet sheets, colder cans, and steaming sweatback creatures

clamor from tent to stage, feral and feeling more and less than they'd bargained for

none of this is real anyway, the placement of beats absorbs our sins

 

back for more brew, last day, red cup offered to white lost lips

the five point celestial embodiment of purge, except and let go

the garment touting woman isn’t dark enough, yet one must serve as guide

 

catch up

i find swing sets

it’s a thing i've always loved because it’s easy to control

but it’s fake freedom with chains and steel at the root, and the grip must be tight,

and your heels must eventually dig a bit, less graceful than perhaps you envision,

and so I make a scene each time

 

and seats outside

with women i have loved and love me back

become swing sets sought after behind more steel in less locations over longer stretches of time

 

the distance and time are measurements i prefer not;

those have been cliche since before we had grey hairs,

since before we had comments on the grey hairs,

since before we even knew what they would really fucking feel like in our hands.

 

the heights we look up to together became larger than our own;

we know we cannot feed each other’s wishes,

so we can crane our necks to see specks of people,

and we can tell each other all the disgusting layers of insecurity we accept;

we wash it down on collapsible tables because despite grey hairs, we still don’t call ahead for reservations

 

we speak of polyamory and jealousy and unwanted attention from wanted wells,

we speak of visas and how much power we have to get them,

we speak of our empty wombs and how much power we will need to maintain,

to keep them so—

 

some call us brave,

because we aren’t little specks with velocity and neck breaks,

we are here

and we are close

but we don’t hug anywhere near enough

and the fancy bathtub in the morning was impossible to use.

 

I want my swing set back

and it makes me break my spine to let out loud cries

on a tarmac

as warm water still spills on never been used white lies.

for a future laid bare:

less screaming - no wrestling with aluminum concrete men - not breathless

huskier - burnt eyelids blessed with trifectas of fingertips tracing less

harshly - still end at the temple - only for me - baby hairs growing coarser - still

i have no daughter - reasons vary from self-absorption to cystic - all

in the realm of intentionally costly - more privacy - must nonviolently

frustrate exposure - innumerable leaked intimacies - having dried in helvetica neo-neue

light - having spilled over the gaps - chiseled - indecisive countenance - an inverse

relation to mangling maroon veins - furred - furrowed - speculation

for this barren subtropical wolf

schematic, not to scale

wristwatch tocks

amplified against

internal

search for truth

 

sloughed skin lost,

evanescence meant

eternal

search for youth

 

lachrymal costs,

everything is wet

external

self-abuse

 

used snuffbox

abandoned & bent

diurnal

told excuse