A Tiny Screeching Demon

 

she blew in on rotten air

her eyes dark and bitter green

her lips the shade of plum…cresting a wave of lies

a virtual shroud dressing the whore of  insecurity

and yes when I peered close I could see a smaller version of myself mirrored there

a poor child

yet in her case the ageing did not produce any smooth rose

but instead  vinegar

and like broken branches

losing their way  in a flourishing tree

she struggled grey and sharp

growling and gnawing at my children

her magic was ugly and took the long route….

her dirty paws tucked in their wet beds,

and poked at an abscess of miscommunication that grew in one little boys jaw

she led the way for dead mothers and zombies,

filing proudly past dreamcatchers….

tiny confused fingers waved, clawing at my throat, pulling at my feet,

a weak goodbye, off to the  house of horrors,

yes it had nice curtains.

~

We watched with eyes as deep as lakes as she drove an axe through the tender trunk of Joey’s tree,

her jealousy shrill that there be a memory there of me.

Joey lives in my heart I said  and the little ones trusted.

It is true.

We relied on love, you see, nurtured concepts of forgiveness.

We spoke of people having sadness like a fishing sinker, hanging from their heart

creating weight that deranges the mind

and causes strange and painful words to swing,

words that have the power to nestle in and fester

and we persevered with love , the only thing we really knew….

in the face of her shaking anxiety and awkward tyre slitting rage

until HE  began to notice a pounding, swelling hepatitis,

and realised he was using her to kill himself

to distort his own aged and dogeared pain.

To give him credit then,

he didn’t linger much longer….

shearing through woody tangle

to extricate himself from the fever of her wailing sex.

Evil stepmothers belong only in fairy tales

they are not real

they do not exist…..not anymore

like tiny screeching demons that lift you by the hair

we faced her

and killed her

with LOVE

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Tassels

the cotton river

weaves its army

tells a story

of gore and glory

coursing with deliberate delicacy

perfect  rows

and streams

of

golden soldiers

and courtesans

the flesh cushioned and fine

swinging side by side

contained

but left to the hand of time

under the gaze of heavy feet

and feigned royalty

they curl

toward each other in a tangled frenzy

a passionate orgy

of desperate frayed

connection

power woman

emerging

 

fissures in me

in my skin

in my density

slices of hot light

stretching

tearing

 

me

spaces

sweet with glow

i am slipping

out

through

blades of woven grass

curving

between

smiling grains

of

molten glass

my

breath is

gilded time

my flesh has split like pomegranate

and I am sailing

a slow

syrup

welcome

 

www.artofkundalini.com

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enigma

 

enigma

inexplicable

mystery….

emitting of power spritz

sparkling

flesh juice

in this mushroom

this walnut

this organ

of

insanatorium

set up

so

when we touch fingers

invisible things

fly off antennae,

vibrant rays of extra terrestrial

zzzt zzzt wire

hmmmm

watch your wet tongue

human

it will set you

on fire!

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