Return to teenage
mind between limbic brain and prefrontal to imagine Persephone spitting dirt
and cobwebs Rip Van Wrinkle stretching limber limbs first thing on your tongue let
it rise up Ambient and sleep tweeter denial another drug of choice make for
home again barefoot and blind the trail long cold crumbs long gone and here is
your fresh start fresh as a wound and wounds love honey blood in the honey iron
sweet so is a cardinal’s jubilation every resonate note an arrow straight stand
straighter feet planted in a new look whipped up rainbow open network fetid breath
in shadow homecoming more cobwebs to lace up a wandering detail Lilith wailed Mary wept it dissolved the accretions it shed skins so the center can fly apart
you let it like the cottonwood see adolescents do this daily.
Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend And life a faithful pillow - a pillow to go flat, a spirit to drift off, glaciers to melt and raise the sea. The blueprint is clear - Expect a tiny storm of mercy– full of crows and bottle flies to debride the corpse, to tithe the land. And respect the putrid demise - things that fall apart make space for miracles. Yet there persists the memory of breath rinsed in lavender and salt air. Then the dreams for blood and semen to revive, to metabolize every tired, sad gospel into a hatch of octopus. Death confesses everything as she conjures her necrosis, as she feigns redemption, fools us with false devotion. She believes our defiance will set her free. We must let grief to be the thread and needle to darn the rend, renew the cloth. then we can grasp the nascent green of winter wheat in spring.
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