It Is Written/Speak in Peace

It Is Written
 
 
I stand, open and defenseless,
waiting for Pluto to overpower me,
take me where he will,
suit me to his purpose.
Or, is that my sister Hecate
coming to meet me,
coming to embrace me,
to set me free?
 
Wondrous are the ways
of the shifty, glamour-ridden mind.
We peek out through rainbow slits
onto a sinuous landscape.
Slippery bits of meaning slither along
hissing out of forked tongue
oracular riddles.
“Oh, yes, my love awaits me.
In the tall grasses we will twain.
Great fortune is to befall us.
It is written.”
And rewritten, and rewritten
on and on through the fever.
Burning molecules, organic fuel,
dance wildly, within a fiery pentagram,
within channeled schematics,
ignited by a living passion.
 
I am beyond words.
Tumbling through shiny bubbles
and iron-wrought hieroglyphs.
There is nothing to depend on
but pure will
and the ability
to suspend belief.
 
 
 
 
Speak in Peace
 
 
Useful communication requires common metaphor.
(Myths forged for tribal survival divide. )
 
When I feel alive, rooted yet wild, outside of frame
a twirling child, free of security derived from shame
able to rise beyond the schoolyard game of divisive naming
 
I see within my eyes distant seas and shores,
forest fae blinking in the haze,
journeys rending years into days.
Hear the whistling, touch the swollen fruit,
amazed — counting down as I tumble.
 
How do I explain in this tongue we mumble,
barely getting through a random chat that
gives no exit wound to that ache beating inside
to grab a hand, touch your mind, bring to being?
 
Yet, why would you want to see what I am seeing?
It’s only poetry; only curiosity; it’s only
miracles of sand, twinkling, breath of fire
combusted glass, twisted into culture, class.
Beauty survives each blast, more adored for her
scars. Allured by her charms, may we doze
and stumble into sweeter reveries.
 
In sleep, relaxed, uncoiled core may cry in surprise
to be free, awaken realigned.
 
Speak friend and enter.
We have much to discuss.
.
.
.
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