Sunday Edition

Straining Container

Sometimes

I daydream And it’s morning

And it just occurred to me to

Write it all down,

Specifically in paragraph

Form. i stand so firmly,

Sometimes, in my own poetry

The comfort of soil and being still

Moist and dirty, rooted but

Yearning for the death of my reaching limbs,

my straining container

My Feet

There is so much power

I am out of breath

Speaking to myself

Adamantly

I am an open pore

Dancing in my own Rain puddles

I fashion myself a child

And

I am

Here in my feet

Coming Body

Something about superpowers and peace

Something from my childhood

A disbelief faith pretending

Motioning as I’m told

And below there was no feeling

I felt i could express

No cultivated trust a stunted growth

And into adulthood I bled

The wounded warrior I took into remission

Pressed black hair out of my eyes

Nuzzled to my own breast feeding

I am the witch in the woods

Calling in my boldest selves

My most aggressive of facets

And fucking myself for holy healing

Knowing that every fantasy is a portal

Every portal a mouth sucking

Life into my next coming body

Woman Body

This is my woman body

My tits, my spread legs

Moving boldly & with precision

This is me coming

Undone and fucking flying

Spending time in the glide

Smooth and poured into

The greatest black dress.

My Hair

My hair is magic and it tells lies

It’s unbearably part of my nature

With its split endings and startling beauty

Tangled with the evening light.

Go Deeper

Say something pretty

As a title on the top of me

Underline the soft fine hairs

Barely existing with the constellation

Shaped moles on my belly

I am hard underneath

And soft on the sides

An invitation to go deeper.

My Life

Evidence of the devil

Mother, Father, Pastor

pointing hands persecuting

I am full of light

Casting shadows

Within or without this flesh

Nothing is wrong with me, and no

One is coming to save my Life

Smiling Lips

I am made of God

And pulsing flesh

Perfect reflection

Of planetary movements

Waxing and waning

Holy as the moon

Hold my hands

And whisper down

Remember, god created

The Devil,

His perfect match

Sacrificial lover

Bleed me over

An altar made of grass

Surround me with river snakes

Until i can finally taste

The close of my eyes

And their Holy breath

Mingled

On my open, smiling lips.

Betwixt

I feel power full. Dark and engaging. That place that is no longer poetry,

but not quite paragraph. This is me, slowly. Letting the words come, themed,

dressed in green, and a little pink. i am winking to myself, from up ahead. I look so healthy,

so pretty, all alive, and often barefooted.