April 26, 2012

Ten Suggestions

The Goddess came to me and suggested that I write these TEN SUGGESTIONS down. (That's her yelling not me.)

1. I’m your mother; all of life passes through my vulva. Worship whoever you’d like; I’m still your mother.

2. I like sculptures of anything; stars, earthly animals, Poseidon himself. Life is art; imitate it.

3. Call me anytime.

4. Nothing is holier than today.

5. Your parents are exhausted.

6. Death is inevitable but not permanent.

7. Sex is a sacred private gift.

8. Give things away.

9. You know what's true. 

10. You are my favorite.

April 09, 2012

Song of Worshiping a Dark Star

At dusk there is nothing but the thin bird’s call
but the fungal         the man who meditates on
the mountain      the woman and the masseuse
There is nothing but       this tree this green ink
 These numbers the woman              chants out
the still windmill in the distance           nothing
draws my attention draws
 in a breath                It is what I have said here

nothing is missing in the   white space evening
sky bends to fog     nothing feels like the fuzzy
edge I run a finger-tip along       the mountains
and the horizon                 nothing is that color
nothing is autumnal it falls from the gnat’s wing
nothing is                the retro-red stove burning
 in the clunky        lodge of awkward wood and
 rough sawn people                  nothing repeats
like beans       nothing is my center
my pink sky                  nothing dwells in the gut
 with heavy boots   the pachyderm in the womb
nothing the cook tells the wife  nothing
 is that bird                               flat upon the glass
is                   different than those bird droppings
nothing is different   search the hands the lines
 of them the veins of them              their soft
wrinkles to find     nothing lift the telephone
receiver   where           nothing burns the air
that fire  of white                 which   occupies
 the cavities the small spaces between toes
the spoon scrapes nothing from the pot
there is that singular   tree in the distant
forest   it is taller more symmetrical than
 others                      The Tree of Nothing
 no bird’s nest in barren   metal limbs no
leaves twirl away from those odd branches
no cell division deep in its core       nothing
transmitted  at least it looks like nothing
to me.                                 About you I can
 say nothing,                           nothing at all. 


After an artifact of the Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum Before we left Oswiecim, went to work elsewhere for the devil, and we left you to ...