May 10, 2016

................................................. she used a poultice of nightshade

'Night in a Small Town', 2007
 Joel-Peter Witkin ©

she smoked like a fiend 
loved to run 
saddle less
in the moonlight ...

she had so many eyes 
made me look away 
so I did
when I played for her 
anything she said 
she wanted to sing 
for me ...

one of her eyes was 
made of skinny shiny knives 
in the center of her forehead 
I was already smitten 
bitten unsteadily falling ... 

she stood before me 
recalling each 
of my names 
in the languages 
of crows 
and canter 
rhythms ... 

she rooted for Baba Yaga
her kitty stole tongues  
and when my turn 
with my hands free to serve need
I quickly became hair 
a head set 
bookshelf artifice 
stashed away 
symphonic poem 
tones secrets 
eye shadows 
boxes ...

she loved being inside each
of our tucked ribbon magic
she called us her flicker light torch bearers 
we'd wade awhile bared 
we might recite 
every cat's cradle 
of every thought 
ever thought 
to be known 
and yet 
there she'd be  
wet scratching 
onto every lover's skin 
like we were her own 
personal Lascaux caves 
and the truth was 
we were 
already ...

she already knew 
we would follow each clue 
to find w her e ...

so most of us 
play the notes
like stones skipped 
over still lakes 
in the disappearing rituals 
of bread crumbs and exhales ...

she sang in a halo of mist and rings :

"a soul 
is born 
to bones 
with innate 
of its storied time ...
... a sense 
of place 
where you 
the I 
that began 
to slowly be 
connective tissue 
deep inside 
the notebooks 
I hide ..."

 EJR ©

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