Reconstitution (Read, like a River)
Love? Mmm… careful with that.
Be vigilant and astute lest you become marked
with unmitigable scarlet. Shunned and
ignored in the street.
Bastille with realistics and marked words.
Be sure in low magick. This, the slurry,
smoke-voiced advice of the witch diva
in her 4th marriage;
empty glass, talon nailed.
This, the blinking, nodding “fine”-ness
of the sexless couple.
Swaddled and flaccid and dry.
…Ah, but the rage that does live there.
All muscle ached, bad-backed and chaste.
The acerbity of the criticizer agitated by soft celebrations.
The superior chortle at the efforts of a flower, pressing
through four-chambered pudding skin.
Does the caterpillar know
she is lowborn?
That her sure undulations are finite?
Does she think the crawling preferable?
How does she know when it’s time to spit out
the Dead? Ectoplasm, embalming her
in the womb/tomb/cocoon…
And therein:
Resconstitution.
Boiling corpses; skulls about the throat.
Tongue extended, panting with the effort
of excruciating ecstasies; licking the blood
off this murder. The Shadows of the trees on
the fresh new snow; limbs reaching for her
to hold her down and fuck her, her eyes clouded
with release. Shedding a skin
too restrictive; too scaly and cynical.
The distorted costume of a smaller being.
Venomous poison/medicine. The strike of her winged Shiva;
She straddles. Riding and ridden.
Time desists; there is
open khemi, vast and wide;
Now. There is this spinning.
Convulsing, Plutonic…
Pact made; angelic handshake;
red pill swallowed…liquid
Love. Graal. Scarlet. Letter. Blood. Signature.
Holy of Holies. Unmitigable.
(Standing in the fact of it, like
the red baby curls with which she was born.
Where is this shame supposed to be?
The mistake? No; I am of Her.
…blood in their mouths, and dust thereafter.)
Ancient words tell of a field, beyond
ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing
where initiates meet:
Wings with eyes, alighting. Iridescent. Aristocrats.
Where the earth had opened, flowers mending
like knitters. With nectar to be taken far in migration.
Returning, returning, returning.
(Read aloud and immediately thereafter performed in dance to “Hexentanz” by Michael Wollsy and “Reconstitution” by Ocoeur.)