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I.

Sleepless, magic night

your fingers and legs spread wide

exploring new worlds.

II.

There is no sin, just

a dark forest first

came the drum, da-da,

and then came the song.

III.

At fourteen I talked to ghosts with
black mud,

bud and cheap blood running in the
acid.

There was a glamour but I did not understand

anything that they were trying to say.

IV.

If you must belong to a tribe, come. No

one has loved you with lips and
fingers, laid

with you until the moon’s day-face
faded

with the dawn. None have brought you
lover’s gifts.

We are a tribe of never-was. We are

a tribe of all of us that might have
been.

V.

Hear me. This is no gift. Here be
witches,

vhukneri. This is your clitoris,

tslik. This is my tongue, lezu. They
call

this witchcraft, kakhardut’yun. A
shaman

must ride a long-tongued ghost to learn
all her

occult secrets. You, blood heart, must
ride me.

VI.

To be a corpse bride, to find a long
dead

lover, to have your crazy hair caught
up

in the air, saints preserve, in a
forest

first came the drum, then the song, for
I am

singing, I am drumming. No one hears
me.

VII.

At the crossroads you shall find all:
this song,

hashish cakes and shadows. Ride me, I
am

your drum, singing your way back home.
I am

a hard ride. Together we will go far.

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NOTE:

The foreign words I use are Armenian:

ՎՀՈՒԿՆԵՐԻ (vhukneri) =
witches.

ԾԼԻԿ (tslik) = clitoris.

ԼԵԶՈՒ (lezu) = tongue.

ԿԱԽԱՐԴՈՒԹՅՈՒՆ
(kakhardut’yun) = witchcraft.