superstition

you say the earth is my mother;

you remind me that she was there

to make me a mother, to make me

strong. i was a wolf once, and will

be again. many wolves come from me;

this is our tribe. inside, we are great

enough to hold a universe of paradox:

infinite paradigms, parallel lines

running alongside but never touching.

that’s what the circles are for.

we crawl in and out of this pack

design, through the mandala canal,

straight into the mind of god.

Advertisements

give me

20150605_150155

give me your suffering,

your training wheels,

your spare rooms.

i implore you to share

what you were about to

say, standing there

cute like a cupcake, in-

voking an in-voluntary rush

that runs and runs and could

elevate the dead. but first, engage

the fluid backdrop of the head: forti-

fied with a sand wall of lit-up dixie

cups. welcome to the stellar

circus, where we are all cotton-

woods coming apart on the wind.