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book
of wonders
i open my book of wonders brimming
with rough child drawings, red crayon ballads bruising
the page.
this is the same woman who once shred confessions,
bribed the spark of the cigarette lighter to do its
best
to eat the evidence.
this is the same woman who ripped paper music from
the spine,
abandoned symphonies like wilted tiger lilies to the
dumpster.
but today i am new & resist the temptress that
wars & winks,
purring like the devastating rich in my ear,
insisting i must tear the gift.
stepping into the wild, gilded field, i search for
your appearing.
i am here to offer this extravagance, the books of days
i buried
beneath the winding cloak of oak roots.
i open for you to read the delicious blaze, words like
exquisite tattoos.
i open for you to trace & breathe every line,
for the divine perfume of this script to drench you.
forgive me for banishing my beauty, sentencing myself
to silence
before you could hear the holy havoc of my singing voice.
i’ve spread a white blanket across the golden
belly of this meadow,
poured out my sack of joy apples for the deep bite dripping.
finally i meet you face to face.
how am i to love you?
what greater gift have i to give than my soul like a
book of wonders opening,
page by page, all my days inscribed.
when you read, read me tenderly.
when you read, read me with grace.
what greater gift have i to give than to open, than
to live.
queen
you find these wings vulgar
as i drop the silk cage.
adorned by all i adore,
fitted for the diamond gown,
i stun. i blaze.
once irresistible
sharpening your knives,
i grin at that old gleam, fly by.
i summon the dethroned monarch in you
with the unfurling of this
decadent butterfly sweep,
my cocoon shedding waltz.
you weep at the emergence.
you know i cannot be kept.
this sky never denies me
her sheltering breath.
shuddering at the passage
you crave & curse my glories
because you are not the song’s hook
for my hoarse hanging.
you are not the source.
you are not the zenith of the story.
your eyes do not script my days
with their radiant plague.
even this a pure wind purges.
ransacked, i never knew
my beauty endured without your gaze
to proclaim it to be true.
in the sweat of darkness
i never knew that i could defy
the fatal fragrance of you,
resist & rise to become
my own fiercest lover.
you find my wings vulgar,
but i won’t be clipped.
you have yet to witness
the full measure of my treasure
& i will not permit you
to domesticate this,
groom me patient & purring
for the midnight stroke.
i am lioness for the language.
i am gypsy dancing
& mocking your ropes.
what you have asked of me
would keep the bud tightly closed
against the wild of the world i chose.
i chose to pour out my laughter
like mad honey from the rooftops.
i chose to beat out a new drum
to seduce a shy moon.
i chose to swelter with wonder
& let the night bend like a gentleman
to lift my wrist to his lips.
i chose to let the stars sing over me,
their waking reprise, “wild one, rise.”
i did not ask permission for this.
your hands choke on the emptiness.
it was not you i needed to take me under wing.
i am my own lover.
i am my own queen.
the
universe welcomes you
the universe welcomes you
it is not only i who rampage with dancing
to the rhythm of your splendors unlocked.
the stars reach out their arms
& applaud your birth.
lilacs stand in ovation.
“encore!” the passion vines shout
as the wind stirs the waters to sing.
you were born for love
& no matter what you may see
of sorrow’s veils & trembling injuries,
scars across a tender earth,
it cannot alter your worth.
to love you will always return.
your mind may resist as mine once did,
but the heartsong breathes out
her secret agreement
with the god of the lilacs, god of the moon,
god of my desire for you,
god who sings beneath the wound
& reaches to cradle you, lost infant,
into the remembrance of where all life begins.
life begins in you,
so do not settle for anything less than infinity
rushing your vulnerable veins.
it is not only i who welcome you.
look at the stars dancing
in the shape of your name.
listen to the lilacs singing
of your worth to me.
see the lovesick gaze of the sun.
you rise & all the earth
plunges in for a taste.
this extravagance is just the beginning.
it will unfold eternally.
now like a shy bride,
soon like a lover
made bold by the seasons of touch.
what i will show you
no one else has seen before.
this is our secret love tongue.
tell them i am coming.
it is not just i who welcome you.
this universe was made to hold its breath
at the moment of your entrance.
all creation is stunned with one glance
& falls back laughing madly
into drunken choruses & chants of love.
how much more can i lavish on you?
you cannot imagine it.
this world is a gift,
the first course
of the banquet i am preparing.
don’t despise her voluptuous folds
& curving ecstasies.
she will only lead you deeper
into the ocean of me.
do you hear the moon crooning for you?
do you hear the wolves in their hillside choir?
do you hear the stream whispering
of what breathes beneath
all your battered dreams in need of mending?
these are the treasures i am offering.
let all that i have made,
worlds formed of words,
words dripping light
be your shelter & guide.
when you fear, take up residence here.
the world is a banquet hall
where all the guests plead
for one glimpse of the beauty you possess.
it is safe to rest now.
this toast is in your honor.
you are more than blessed
& the blessing can never be removed.
do not settle for anything less than love
rushing your sweet veins.
no matter what you see
your worth remains unchanged.
this promise will not falter or fade.
i stand with the universe
i stand with the universe
& welcome you.
scandalous
his beauty (how dare he)
no one told you
that you were born into a world at war,
torn between the heckling shadow
& the unbreakable hunger for more.
that defiant rumor of a drunken heaven
sirens you on to the unseen haven
where the soul sings unashamed.
no one told you
that you would be defamed
for the wild wine that seethes within,
chanting an unspeakable name
to the pounding prance
of the dancing arsonist itch,
a leper’s love for the whore,
the riot of kindness piercing through
the ever unsettled score.
i thought i could murder the dream, dim myself condemned
with the rest of the mute & mesmerized children
who learned that the panting perfume of their desiring
was to be slain at all costs
& the savage drunkard art would leave them destitute
& departing from the lap of god.
who knew that god was the first painter of reckless
crimson skies?
who knew that god was the breather
of poem-sons & daughters that never die?
who knew that god blessed my bird soul to rise
with a song first forged in the depths & heights
of untamed love-sickness
& the rhythm of his eternal heart drum.
i believe that if we met god today we would curse him
from our numb, glazed skins & stony part hearts
because we have become so inhuman hunting down the divine.
we do not have time for this.
he is crazed for symphonies of lilies & dancing
sinners.
he is crazed for lark sonnets & sunset ballads
he is crazed for all these broken babes breaking out
of their cages
with a violent, pure refrain, the barroom angels joining
in.
we would be offended when we should be amazed
& rolling laughter down generous hillsides.
blind, we would kick him out onto the streets for being
indiscreet,
this god transforming water to wine.
if we met god today we would call him by the heretic’s
name.
how dare he expose our strivings as a vain game?
how dare he lavish such extravagance on us?
how dare he free the voices of the oppressed?
how dare he call us to trust after all we’ve seen?
how dare he walk among us with his paints & poetry
without a shiver of shame, a shadow of remorse
for his mountains of music & morning glory stories,
these black stallions rampaging the plains like rock
‘n’ roll?
he is offensive this god-man falling crazed for his
creation.
if we met god on the street we would persecute him
for his beauty
& call him unclean because we have been trained
to fear the untamed
& holy, holy, holy wild is all that he has breathed
into being,
holy, holy, holy wild is the ground stained with blood
& tears.
holy, holy, holy wild is my miracle of a body,
bliss tress, ever eyes, breath valley, hip swell,
womb, limbs, kiss, fire.
i know you may not see it, but my scarred back is a
canvas,
the flesh upon which he is brushing his masterpiece.
the wound cries glory when he is the wind singing for
me.
i know you’ve forgotten how to hear it, but here
the angels weep
their scandalous tears & applaud because they know
that from these wounds are called the raging splendors
of god.
no one told you were born into a world at war,
a world that will pimp your dreams beyond breathing
if it cannot force you to release your grasp.
do not yield. the rumors are true.
heaven clamors delicious for you.
the wisdom of the child has been defiled
& we call this blindness, life
burying our desires like tears of rust,
like the letters of lovers who abandoned us.
to survive the cruel tide of days
the punishing crush of a world at war with us
we renounce our first blush of want
& say it must be this way.
but this is not the way.
we are mocking the art of god.
we are breaking the bones of love again.
we are hammering nails into the soul eyes of children.
do not deny we are the holy wild ones
he has spoken into a lightning crash of flesh.
hear this famished cry inside your every breath,
“come out from where you hide.
let desire enter the light.”
let me lift
this wild cup
cease this excavation.
lay those rusted tools aside.
you worship at the altar of your past
& it makes you weep.
keep a new vigil.
rise & make love to the light.
if you live fierce & deep & wild
while you are upon this earth
what must be found
will find you, tender one.
relics will not halt their speeches.
decipher what is worth hearing
& know above all else
that your worth
is beyond measuring.
what the ruin sings
will be here tomorrow
if you need to listen.
but be careful in the interpretation
not to lose you soul.
the devastation is no more real
than the riot of spring.
praise the indivisible beauty
blazing through
every mourning crevice of memory.
from now on i will be the strongest
by allowing myself to be the most tender.
it is the only true defense
against the cruelties
we’ve witnessed together.
don’t you know these words are for you,
that i am for you?
i have learned to trust desire as my wisest friend.
you should try her drink.
let me lift the cup if you are weakened
by what the seasons have stolen from your eyes.
all streams lead back to this
breath & beat,
this wild healing honey.
i will spoon the soothing silk,
succulence of spiced milk
into your desert mouth.
may no trace of fear or doubt
ever enter you again,
even if the pitcher is shattered,
even if the wheel is broken.
even this cannot deter us.
we will soak in the wine.
we will travel by foot
& never look back.
be spoken for.
be fed in the pulsing tavern, my friend,
until you have mended deep enough
to break the music open for yourself
& share these words as bread.
torch singer
i am a dead-ringer for a torch singer.
don’t you dare try & strangle my dream.
my rising has been a long time coming.
& i don’t care how smart-dressed you are
in your blue velvet suit & snappy swing shoes,
raven slick hair & silver wallet chain.
don’t care how soul sultry your confessions,
i can’t keep waiting around for you
to turn into a good-hearted man.
the band is vamping out my tune,
my moment has arrived like a whisky smile
& i can shine them blind without you.
even your loveliness is a wickedness
i could not survive without my bee-bop armor,
the amorous catch of playing pretty please
with snakes in the high grass.
o boy, that charmer’s smile haunting me reckless
is still no contest for the song of my belonging.
see, today i let down the guard
‘cause i won’t be dancing ‘round these
part no more.
i am as sure of my mission to blast these blues
as you are of you stash of smut.
so, i guess you best give me up
‘cause i’m a dead-ringer for a torch singer
& my flame for your game has gone missing.
vanished is the violent verse
that drew me to unbutton the curse of your beauty.
tonight if i should find you gazing on the stage
from that haze of smoke, you must know this:
i am here to kiss the microphone
& i will go home alone,
satisfied.
‘cause i’m a dead-ringer for a torch singer
& my rise, my rise has been a long time coming.
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