Friday, May 22, 2015

the porch problem

when you think you are performing for someone but there is in fact no audience 

when you try to create something for yourself but can't stop thinking about the impossible potential audience 

why I never write anymore 

why I sing only during dishes

when will I learn 

or figure how to forgive myself

amy and I talked about the selfishness of artists and wondered if that's what it takes to make anything worthwhile. do I have to stop everything else? not that it is anything but I haven't written in weeks, months, years. what do I want anymore? can I blame the place or the job or just me?

a borrowed beer on the porch, a beer too often. a smuggled smoke, ashes again. 

these small sacrifices grow a larger harvest. they don't answer the questions or the problem. 

where can I go? my home under the hill? I've almost stopped believing. 

there's truly no place for me. 

the truth is I'm stuck again and I hate myself for it. the worser truth is that I don't see any way out. even though there are people out there waiting for me, wanting me to bring the fire, I can't believe that it's the right fire. I only have one flame and it's gone out. nothing to be done now. 

have another smoke, another drink, don't think.
the porch is the only place you'll ever be, there's nothing here but what you see. 

Friday, May 08, 2015

Friday, May 01, 2015


light and dark
we lived in the trees
they wanted to destiny Christmas
hooting people
we did rituals to protect ourselves
costumes and performance
mama there telling me all the truth
mama leading us esp the new generation
a woman has been coming to our side seeking shelter and solace
we perform rituals to cleanse her

(blood wine for dark purpose )

she's telling tales
we're stuck as the rifleman makes rounds
ruthless. shooting even our youngest without power
we are all women and old men
she's here in the very center with the most powerful ones
I left them downstairs to protect abatha (the most powerful of all of us, but stuck in a coma and helpless)
when I crawled away trip grabbed my hand and wouldn't let me. I worried they'd shoot me right then, that they'd see me.
but I made it up to the core
my mama in a trance
my costume comedic for joy and mirth (all straps and buckles, my
hairy legs and open skirt)
my clown calling

she tells us she misses that power
details the dark ritual
three times at least she fucked her dark lord, got pregnant and transplanted the fetus to one of our light wombs
abatha, so powerful. she claims that's why
and me
so that's why I was three weeks late
dry birth
covered in scales
made wicked from the start

but where is my power ?
I'm just a jester

so glad mama isn't here to hear
but she most know somehow....

and disgusted to know my true father
and that he wanted to fuck me

and laylee helped us protect the chrosmas things
sort and hide and disguise
morgan had made a beautiful story with wonderful illustrations

I would die to save it