I told the nurse
I swallowed a snake.
He charted: religious mania.
But I felt her—
three and a half turns
sleeping
just south of the back
of my clavicle.
I called her Vera
then,
full breath
pried me open.
Fire-rising,
slithering:
it was gospel
sliding
down my vertebrae—
a ladder
Jacob had forgotten—
yea and behold though
we came
back for it.
I couldn’t stop laughing.
Or crying.
Or saying
I saw light in the colorless
rooms
outside
understanding.
When I explained, again,
how god comes
in my root,
propels
herself through
my expanded
throat
chakra,
they were furious—
branded me
inpatient,
wrapped my wrists,
ordered more
Thorazine.
They don’t let me
sit cross-legged,
say my mantra
disturbs
the others.
Just between
you and me
this energy wall
crumbling, this crux
of second comings,
this fifth horseman—
is a woman re-forming
initiation:
an apocalypse
finally
worth the animal
salt-sweat
hump
it took to get it
going.
A WILDERNESS OF MIRRORS
Where did individuality go, all toeing the same line
As all seem to be reflections of a similar persuasion
A wilderness of mirrors, each shows the same face
And of distinct personalities, there’s but little trace
Unique traits either lost or just practised at evasion
All have become identical vertebrae down the spine
Mirrors are more than merely a pane of clear glass
A silver backing will change what the image will be
Wherever one looks, it is the same adopted stance
All now just soulless eyes, never venturing a glance
For the moment, it’s now everyone else except me
But soon, I’ll see myself a thousand fold, as I pass
Our third eye glistens, as we watch
bliss magnetism rise, notch by notch,
until each cell of feeble form
imbibes these currents, cool and warm,
dancing on our spine’s vertebrae,
the tease divine, playing hopscotch,
God applauding the way we pray.
Poised attention animated,
we become light, as is fated,
doing nothing, save being still,
wonderstruck as voids within fill,
ego cravings, decimated.
Toroidal heart emits love’s scent,
paving way for our soul’s ascent.
magnetised spine as a seamless whole
reviews purity of thirty three vertebrae
each is a string on which bliss beats play
such dear soul is the way in which we pray
navel chakra appears centre stage
perhaps it has something to say
it is best we let it have its way
lest fire god takes umbrage
meanwhile on our forehead
a quiet potent bliss mist rises
mother divine is full of surprises
we surrender content at being led
spine a harp of thirty three strings
corresponding to the vertebrae
hymns are played as we pray
oh what joy rapture brings
thirty three strings of our vertebrae
reverberate with music of the spheres
a harp upon which Divine Mother plays
nectar flows upward through the medulla
settling finally in head ovoid at the Bindu point
what may we write of such things, worthy hermit
for what it is, is a knowing by so becoming the flame
as bliss pheromones mingle
we feel our enlivened spine tingle
poised in stillness, our attention sharp
kundalini ascends upward, playing a harp
the harp we speak of has thirty three strings
where each vertebrae a unique note rings
with medulla knot being already open
soundless secrets to us are spoken
the mist rises to the Bindu point
we witness how Mother does anoint
back of head, capping it with God’s hand
an ascent wondrous we alone can understand
A snaking mouth sloughs two spines,
the rattle of small vertebrae
and delicate teeth.
A woman learns to ride them, feels
the trombone slide of a dragon’s tail.
A man lifts tugging fingers,
not wanting to fumble
as ill-illuminated aluminum rails
bite.
The zipper knits together lusts
or shuns and strips a thought away.
Body bags become bodily prayers.
It is a widening gash gleaming -
lip-gloss for unpainted desires.
Zippers may squeeze a tight throat,
or close an open face.
Buttons are collected or lost,
though once in a while rescued
from a box of other tangled trinkets.
Inhabit me,
my vertebrae are bond in worms
and my eyes on the inside,
you could discover that much light
And the colours seem to have been reinvented.
Inhabit me,
In my ear drum,
will feel a tingling almost from the soul.
Inhabit me,
lose oneself in the drunkenness of flavors,
You may desire the ingredients,
When you slide jerky
Into my fine veins.
Call me when you run out of breath,
My blood has infinite powers.
When there are guests.
Touch the doors of my heart
Hide in no matter what room you're in,
I love to seek you out,
Wherever that is.
is it my weight or my age or both?
is it arthritis in my spine?
I can barely walk today
or straighten out my back
spinal cord anguish
bad vertebrae?
need to stretch
chronic
ache
caterpillar
green, young
crawling, metamorphosing, molting
larva, silkworm, vertebrae, gossamer
flittering, flapping, perching
winged, iridescent
butterfly
Date written: 11/06/2022
Time took a running start and kicked me in the back
Breaking my C-2 Vertebrae. No biggie.
I have had worse. I take a swig on my cig.
Neck brace? Sure. Why not?
Time slams a Chevy into the back of my car.
Breaking numbers six and seven in my back.
Time is kicking my ass this month I guess.
Luckily, my neck is already broken, so win-win for me.
Time gives me osteoporosis and shingles.
Two things I never realized I needed.
The benefits and joys of being seventy.
Come get me time. Give me your next best shot.
Eclipse
without sun
I am etiolated,
enfeebled, bereft
my backbone heavy
and limp,
muscles stale and indurate
from disuse
I try to lift my face,
feel the light,
even the dawn or dusk,
even when fog would cloud my vision
but I cannot move, for
my neck is fixed,
vertebrae seized, locked,
eyes that can do no more
than stare ahead
at this monolith, this
menhir, present since
I can remember
that ages me, leaves me
threadbare and faded,
as a moth-eaten blanket
fails to sustain a warm embrace
so I shiver in the shadow,
ensnared in this eclipse,
this dark moon
that will not detach me
from its bleak orbit
From marrow to vein the thin thread of memory drags another new malignancy out into the light.
I shall tuck it, as a gift, within Destot’s space and leave it to harden and calcify until it’s colour is pale and stony.
This new seed inside my hidden framework will soon germinate, but will never push out towards the dying constellations.
Instead, it will coil its way along ulna, humerus and clavicle and bind bad dreams into a hard, red jewel that will nestle between skull and vertebrae.
Cartilage grinds and sinew creaks as this bud of echoes sprouts and entwines
up through mandible and tooth.
Knife to neck, hand in pajamas, sodden mattress, accusations, laughter under dimming lights.
All of these petals are forever open and held aloft by invading stems that relentlessly offer up the blooms of another time.
I am encased, but the stories of my joints continue to thrive and search a path through my skeletal remorse.
And I will always stop to smell the flowers.
Glimmering, shining in delight,
Three little stars embellished the night.
***
Demons played a game with these little stars,
That were clustered together.
¥***¥
They used their power to separate them,
With the magic of cosmic weather.
¥>* * ****
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