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Author Archives: babylon crashing

rifts

21 Saturday Mar 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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poem, Poetry, rifts, sonnet

Come, love. We don’t bring them into focus,
or cast shadows upon the dim water,

or rouse them out to talk. No, no. For us
it’s about patience; when the gray weather

becomes neither sea nor sky, when the birds
hide in the drab grass sands, when the wind shifts

so that glacial waves are lulled by the words
that we both must speak. I’ve charted the rifts

between our two worlds. I’ve drunk from their cup.
I’ve made us a pact; because I love them.

It’s OK to be frightened, downcast and glum.
I was. We all will be. Yes, it’s fucked up.

Yes, I’d rather not, but … even mayhem
can’t save us. The rifts open. Come, love, come.

huli jing [act i]

20 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in drama, Feminism, Humor

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9-tailed fox, Act I, androgyny, Chinese mythology, drama, Giraudoux, Huli Jing, Ondine

HULI JING: the 9-tailed fox

[a reworking of Giraudoux’s Ondine]

ACT I

Huli Jing, a 9-tailed fox-spirit.
Jinggu, a Wu-Shaman.
Niu and Qui (Huli Jing’s human parents)

][][

The scene is mythological China.
Nighttime inside a roadside inn.
Outside a forest storm rages.

NIU [at the window]
He’s out there … in the dark.

QUI
Indeed, Niu, dear. In the dark.

NIU [peering]
It’s a very dark night.

QUI
Indeed. If it was lighter it would be daylight.

NIU
Listen! The boy is laughing! No, that’s the wind. That sounded like the wind, didn’t it?

QUI
Well, if it isn’t the wind what else could it be?

NIU [uncomfortable, not wishing to state the obvious]
Shush your mouth. You know that I don’t know.

QUI
So, he’s out among the trees, singing with the wind?

NIU
Don’t laugh at me, old man!

QUI [smiling to himself]
I was merely remembering when I was a boy his age. But we lived in a city and there were no trees.

NIU
City-life would’ve taken the forest out of him. We’re too soft with him, Qui. It isn’t right, a boy running about in the woods at this time of night. I shall have to talk gravely to him when he returns.

QUI
If he returns. But why complain? He helps with the housework around the inn every day, doesn’t he?

NIU
I don’t know. Does he?

QUI
I’m the one in the kitchen. You’re the one seeing to the guests. I’ve yet to hear you complain that we’re serving meals on dirty dishes.

NIU
That’s not the point. Whether he has to wash dishes, cups or tables, it always the same time – I turn my back for a moment and everything is clean and shining.

QUI
Complaining about efficiency is odd, coming from you. Would you rather a layabout and a slob for a son?

NIU [not paying attention]
And then he brings things home. He says that he finds them in the woods. Queer bowls and cups that look like they’re fashioned out of roots. You know what he has been doing today?

QUI
Probably doing what a boy his age does. Do you remember a single day in all these years that we’ve had him that he has done anything expected of him? And yet, somehow, he makes everyone who comes to this inn happy.

NIU
Huh, except for the ones that he spooks away.

[The window suddenly flies open]

NIU [startled]
Whaa!

QUI [getting up and coming over]
Why so jittery? It’s only the wind.

NIU
Wind? It’s him! You know how he loves to play tricks on me. Making all those ghastly faces peer in at the window when my back is turned. That young girl with no eyes gives me the heeby-jeebies.

QUI
I like the old man with the beard, though. Still, if you’re frightened, shut the window.

[There is a flash of lightning, and the face of an young girl with unkempt hair and empty eye-sockets appears in the window.]

YOUNG GIRL WITH NO EYES
Hello, mama-dear!

NIU [shrieks]
Huli Jing, you scalawag!

[She shuts the window. It flies open again. The head of an old man with a long beard appears in another flash.]

OLD MAN [cheerfully]
Good evening, master Qui!

QUI [cheerfully]
Ah! Good evening, sir!

[The Old Man disappears. Qui goes to the door and peers out into the storm.]

QUI [calling]
Huli Jing, come in this minute! Your mother is very angry!

NIU [calling out the window]
Yes, in you come, Huli Jing! I’m going to count up to three, and if you’re not in by then, I’m going to lock the door! [To herself] The boy can sleep outside.

[A flash of lighting and crash of thunder comes as a response.]

QUI
Mother, you don’t mean that!

NIU
You see if I don’t. Huli Jing – one!

[A second roll of thunder.]

QUI
You’re only making the forest angry every time you speak!

NIU
It’s not the forest who is angry, is it? Huli Jing – two!

[A third boom of thunder even louder than the last.]

QUI
This isn’t how one keeps good neighbors —

NIU
“Neighbors,” my foot – three!

[Sudden magical silence falls over the inn. Even the wind cannot be heard.]

QUI [dryly]
Well, somebody heard you.

NIU [getting up and locking the door]
There! The inn is closed for the night, as far as I’m concerned. Now we can go to bed.

[Suddenly the door blows open and with it the sounds of the night. Niu and Qui turn, startled. Silhouetted in the doorway stands Jinggu, a female wu-shaman.]

JINGGU [cheerfully stepping into the room]
The door isn’t locked, I hope?

NIU
O! A guest. [Stepping forward.] Madam, my name is Niu, at your service.

JINGGU
Many thanks. I’ve been walking all day through these woods. Do you think that I might find a room tonight?

NIU
O, please, madam, make yourself at home.

JINGGU [sitting down and shaking rain water from her robes]
Buddha in heaven, what a storm! It’s been pouring down my neck ever since noon. Of course, robes are robes and these deserve to be burned, but there’s not much one can do. The one thing we shamans simply dread, you know, is rain. That, and rat-demons, of course.

NIU
Of course. Er, well, madam, perhaps you could take them off and I could see that they get properly washed?

JINGGU
Take my robes off? Have you ever seen a snail without its shell, Niu? Well, I suppose that would make it a slug, come to think about it. But the analogy still works. A shaman without her robes? A naked wu-shaman? Unthinkable! Well, except for when it comes to the licentiousness, of course. There is an awful lot of that, except in Court these days. It’s that blasted Confucianism that keeps saying that women need to leave their robes on. And now that the Empress is so keen on Confucianism there isn’t much a shaman can do except not take her robes off. You did say your name was Niu, yes?

NIU
Ah, yes, madam, and this is my husband, Qui.

QUI [bowing]
Please excuse us, madam. We rarely get Court shamans in these parts.

JINGGU
O, I’m not a Court shaman, my good man! I’m just a shaman from the Court. It’s the men who are all the ritual bureaucrats and moral metaphysicians these days. Especially now that the Empress is worried that her yin has somehow become polluted.

NIU
Polluted, madam?

JINGGU
I know, sounds crazy, doesn’t it? There’s that damn Confucianism, again. I use to be in charge of purifying mountain demons and now I’m reduced to purifying the Empress’ yin.

NIU
Does that work?

JINGGU
If I do it once a day it keeps her happy. It’s hard work, mind you. She keeps producing so much of it. Copious amounts. But she must be getting very cranky of late, I’ve spent a whole month in this forest, vainly searching for a mother-of-pearl comb belonging to a “hollow-cheeked young moon of springtime’s ebb with plumed clouds canopied about her.” Then it started to rain. Lucky for me I’ve stumbles on Niu’s and Qui’s quaint roadside inn.

QUI
That’s right, madam! Er, I know it’s not proper to ask a guest questions, madam, but may I just ask if you’re hungry?

JINGGU
Food? Food! I should that say I am. I’d be most glad for a meal.

QUI
I’ve got a rabbit in the kitchen. Perhaps you’d care for that?

JINGGU
I most certainly would! I have an unholy passion for rabbit.

QUI
Would you like it boiled, madam, or poached?

JINGGU
Ah, steamy lapin water. Er, no. I prefer fricassee, truth be told.

[Niu and Qui look at each other in dismay.]

QUI
O … fricassee? I usually boil them for twenty or thirty minutes, madam, they’re very nice that way.

JINGGU
But you just asked how I like rabbit, and I like fricassee.

NIU
He poaches them, too, madam.

QUI [sadly]
You would like me to saute and braise the meat, madam?

[In the far distance: thunder and lightning]

JINGGU
I don’t know, I just like the word, “fricassee.” It sounds rather indecent. An indecent rabbit, ha!

NIU [stiffly]
It certainly does, madam.

JINGGU
Then that’s settled then. I want fricassee.

NIU
All right, Qui. Go and … do that thing for the lady.

QUI [in the doorway]
It’s very nice simmered, madam, in a small amount of —

NIU [shooing him away]
Go on, old man.

[Qui goes into the kitchen. Jinggu settles back in her chair.]

JINGGU
You seem quite keen on Court shamans in these parts.

NIU
Well, madam, we prefer them to wild beasts and demons.

JINGGU
I rather like demons, at least the ones from the mountains. Not that I’m a monster or anything, it’s just what I was trained in.

NIU
It’s rare to find a woman with a trade, madam.

JINGGU
Thing is, you see, I like talking. I’ve got a talkative nature, I suppose. With demons there’s always someone to chat with. Most shamans are far from congenial, if you get my drift. Chimei demons are the best, of course, they’re thousands of years old and they’ll tell you their whole life stories. Some people say that their name means “hornless dragon,” which is odd because dragons are, you know, celestial, whereas Chimei aren’t. You’d think that was perfectly obvious. But scholars are a pretty thick lot, especially the Court ones, pfff. You see, the problem is, and I think it is a problem, that I don’t know anything about forest demons, certainly not enough to carry on a conversation. So I’ve spend a month lost in these damned woods, and I’ve yet to exchange a single word with anyone. Even my own echo finds me boring of late, which is a shame since I’ve got so much to say!

NIU
But whoever could have made you come to a dreadful place like this?

JINGGU
Who do you think? A man, of course!

NIU
Ah! Huh, well, I won’t ask you any more, madam.

JINGGU
Ha ha! Yes you will, this very minute! Lord Buddha and the Diamond Sutra, Niu! I haven’t talked about a man for a whole month! You don’t think I’m going to miss the opportunity, now that I’ve got you within earshot!

NIU [clearing uncomfortable about the subject but trying to be polite]
It’s fine, madam, I’ve never found the subject to be all that stimulating —

JINGGU
Come on, now! Hurry up and ask me his name!

NIU
Madam …

JINGGU
Do you want to know his name or not?

NIU [sighing]
What is his name, madam?

JINGGU
His name, good innkeeper, is Tsu Tia-Chua. Isn’t it a manly name!

NIU [dryly]
O … very manly, madam.

JINGGU
Other men are always called Bingwen, Huizhong, or Jianguo – well, I mean, anyone can be called Bingwen, or Huizhong, or Jianguo, but only someone special deserves a name so solemn and deep and thrilling. I expect you want to know if he’s handsome, dear Qui?

QUI [just coming in]
Who is handsome, madam?

NIU
The lady is talking about Tsu Tia-Chua, my dear, Lord Tsu Tia-Chua of the Court.

QUI
Er, yes. Handsome is he? I mean, is he handsome?

JINGGU
Is he handsome! But you’ll see for yourself, my dear friends, because you will both come to my wedding. I invite you here and now! Tsu Tia-Chua promised to marry me on the one condition that I returned from this forest; and if I do return, it will be entirely thanks to you. Well, Qui, my dear, I think you’d better go and fetch that rabbit of mine. We don’t want it over-fricasseed, do we? Wait, is that even possible?

[The door opens, and Huli Jing appears. He stands motionless on the threshold.]

HULI JING [marveling]
O, you’re beautiful!

NIU [standing up]
Why, you moss-tailed miscreant!

HULI JING [coming in, a wild thing from the wild woods]
Isn’t she beautiful?

NIU
Excuse me, madam, this is our son. I’m afraid he doesn’t know much about manners.

HULI JING
It’s just that I’m so happy to know that a mortal woman is as lovely as that. I’m not frightened of them now.

NIU
He’s still a child, madam. Please try to forgive him.

HULI JING
I knew there must be some good reason for deciding on being a boy today!

NIU
Huli Jing, please, you’re annoying the lady.

HULI JING
I’m not, you know. The moment I walked through the door she began to overflow with essence. I could smell it way out in the forest, that’s why I came home early. Look at her face! She’s glowing. What’s your name?

NIU [horrified]
For all that is holy, boy, you can’t address a shaman like that!

HULI JING [coming up to Jinggu]
What’s her name?

JINGGU
Her name is Jinggu.

HULI JING
I should have known. When it’s a dewy morning, and your breath goes out like a cloud, bearing all your sadness with it, you say Jinggu. That’s so pretty! Why have you come? To take me away?

NIU
That’s quite enough from you. Go to your room this minute.

HULI JING
O, take me! Abscond with me!

[Qui returns with the cooked rabbit.]

QUI
Here’s your fricassee, madam. Just you settle down to that. It’ll be better than listening to this mad son of ours.

HULI JING [twirling around in horror]
Did you say fricassee?

JINGGU [eating with gusto]
Yum – it’s magnificent!

HULI JING
Father, did you dare to braise a rabbit?

QUI
Be quiet. It’s done now, anyway.

HULI JING
O, my poor darling rabbit, you’ve slept all winter dreaming under the snow only to end up in a sauce pan!

NIU
Now you’re not going to start making a fuss about a rabbit!

HULI JING
They call themselves my parents … and they took you and threw you cut you up into little pieces and sauteed you!

JINGGU
I asked them to, little boy.

HULI JING
You did? Yes, I should have known that too. I can see, now I look at you closer. You stink of mortality, don’t you?

[Far away, but coming closer: thunder and lightning.]

QUI [bowing]
O, madam, forgive us!

HULI JING
You don’t know anything about anything, do you? You think dream interpretation really works? I’ve seen your “sacrificial rain ceremony,” what a joke! You lot are so eager for your Elixirs of Immortality but the moment something truly awe-inspiring comes by all you want to do is fricassee it!

JINGGU [her mouth full]
Try some, child! It’s delicious!

HULI JING
Well, it won’t be delicious much longer!

[Huli Jing takes the dish and throws the rabbit out of the window.]

HULI JING
Go on and eat it now! Good-bye!

QUI
Huli Jing! Where are you going?

HULI JING
There’s someone out there who hates mortals and wants to tell me all about them. I always refused to listen, because I’ve had my own ideas – but not anymore!

QUI
You’re not going out again, in this weather!

HULI JING
Yes, and in a minute I’ll know everything; what they’re like and what they’re capable of – the thought of what I’m about to hear sets my fur flying.

NIU
Young man, have I got to stop you by force, eh?

[Huli Jing slips away from his mother.]

HULI JING
I already know that mortals are all evil and liars and smell, and the beautiful ones are really grotesque, and the magical ones are plain and repulsive!

JINGGU
Really, child? What if one of them fell in love with you?

[Huli Jing stops, but does not turn round]

HULI JING
What did she say?

JINGGU [looking down at her chop-sticks]
O, nothing. Nothing at all.

HULI JING
Say it again.

JINGGU
Suppose one of them fell in love with you?

[Directly overhead: thunder and lightning. The Inn’s lights all flicker.]

HULI JING
I’d still hate them.

[Huli Jing vanishes into the night.]

[End of Act I]

][][

notes:

I am a firm believer in the Bechdel Test, which is a rating system based on that: (1) the work in question has to have at least two women in it, who (2) who talk to each other, about (3) something besides a man. Even though Jinggu seems to want to do nothing but talk about her man appearances can be deceptive.

At first I had the fox-spirit, Huli Jing, simply female, but then I began to think of the glories of androgyny; why not have a girl play an immortal boy who seduces an “older” mortal woman? It’s fascinating how generations of Western audiences have had no problem with Peter Pan always being played by, clearly, an adult woman, even when “he” is seducing Wendy Darling from the very beginning.

silly little cough

20 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry

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9-tailed fox, fox spirit, Huli Jing, laudanum, poem, Poetry

“I want a mythology that can’t be referenced”

one of us must be the Story Teller
and one listen:

He is never mine boy
made of nine-tails

tossed in a fever, words
like laudanum

make little sense to
the fox lad in

red goose-down,
a lavish bark stripling,

prodigal yip while
letters writhes in the

air over his bed, he
(gender vulgar

yet warm) of the nine-
tails each no bigger

than the joint of
his finger woke, silly

little cough in his
breast (breast of breasts) came

in a flurry of
distractions and fur

so he shook the water-
pipe. He woke and

shook his head his fever finally broken,
my words on his wall gone –

fantasma guloso [greedy ghost]

20 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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cunnilingus, fantasma guloso, greedy ghost, poem, Poetry, Portuguese translation

“I had almost forgotten how good it is to be licked – kissed – smeared –”

Be for me the language
that redeems me.

Mortal flesh is weak, but
I am apocalyptic: she-devil
in heat.

I am your horny sister
cursed with
chastity.

“Greedy Ghost.” (desire
takes shape) “Feel this wet tongue
slide and your juice returns
to condition of the living.”

][][

“Eu quase havia esquecido como é bom ser lambido – beijado – lambuzado –”

Seja comigo uma língua
que me redime.

Carne mortal é fraca, mas
eu sou apocalíptica: um diaba
no cio.

Eu sou o seu tesão irmã
amaldiçoado com
castidade.

“Fantasma guloso.” (desejo
toma corpo) “Sentir a língua molhada
deslizar enquanto o teu suco retorna
à condição de vivos.”

gosto [taste]

20 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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cunnilingus, gosto, poem, Poetry, Portuguese translation, taste

TASTE

Full of the mystery of taste.
Reckless with my mouth.

Throbbing fruit
fresh. My mouth

on your skin. A light kiss
with the touch

of the tongue.
Suck your

fruit; with a grip,
howling, and hair

pulling. Strange
fruit.

][][

GOSTO

Plena do gosto da mistério.
Afoita com minha boca.

Latejando de fruta
fresca. Minha boca

na teu pele. Um leve beijo
com o toque

da língua.
Chupo teu

fruto; com um aperto,
um urro, e puxão

de cabelo. Fruto
estranho.

Bilac’s DELÍRIO

20 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Portuguese, Translation

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cunnilingus, Delírio, Olavo Bilac, Portuguese translation

Olavo Bilac, Delirium

Naked since love doesn’t need shame
In my her mouth I pressed.
And, as for carnal thrills, she said:
“Lower down, baby, I want your kiss!”

Crude, unconsciousness of my desire
Trembling, my mouth obeyed,
And I bit her taut breasts
So that she gasped like broken chords.

In endless sighs of joys
She told me, still almost crying:
“Lower down, baby!” – All in a frenzy.

On her belly I laid my mouth,
“Lower, baby!” – She said, crazy,
Puritans, forgive me! but I obeyed …

][]][

Delírio

Nua, mas para o amor não cabe o pejo
Na minha a sua boca eu comprimia.
E, em frêmitos carnais, ela dizia:
– Mais abaixo, meu bem, quero o teu beijo!

Na inconsciência bruta do meu desejo
Fremente, a minha boca obedecia,
E os seus seios, tão rígidos mordia,
Fazendo-a arrepiar em doce arpejo.

Em suspiros de gozos infinitos
Disse-me ela, ainda quase em grito:
– Mais abaixo, meu bem! – num frenesi.

No seu ventre pousei a minha boca,
– Mais abaixo, meu bem! – disse ela, louca,
Moralistas, perdoai! Obedeci …

note:

Olavo Brás Martins dos Guimarães Bilac (1865 – 1918) was a Brazilian poet, journalist and translator. This poem comes from his, Poesias (1888)

motes

05 Thursday Mar 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry

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Tags

damp gristle, motes, poem, Poetry, tongue

cut me I want to taste your
tongue, that damp gristle

give me the part of your face
that I can put close to mine

someone else would
understand. someone else would

touch my tongue without leaving
a scar. a wound.

under my dress dust

Image

05 Thursday Mar 2015

Tags

Grand Rapids, love alone didn't save her, Michigan, photograph

March 2, 2015

graffiti found on the corner of Lafayette and Fountain, Grand Rapids, MI (March 2, 2015)

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Illustration and art

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MEDUSA

27 Friday Feb 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Disaster –- Pain –- Sorrow, Feminism, Poetry

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Tags

Atefeh Sahaaleh, Athene, feminism, Greek mythology, Medusa, menopause

“On a planet where for thousands of years, even today, a woman’s worth has been judged exclusively by the productivity of her womb, what the hell is the point of a barren woman?”
― Elissa Stein and Susan Kim

After the change they called you a monster.
Ain’t that the truth, Ruth, Ruelaine and Susan; Pat, Judy and Audre – –
That dying, drying, dissolving inside. Listen.
You had no child so you had no cradle and what woman can dance with ecstasy with no cradle?
Who can sing when they have no tongue?
They hang girls for less, body and mind.
The priestesses banished you to the island of Cisthene in the Red Sea (east of Ethiopia).
What man wouldn’t lose his erection at the sight of you? What woman wouldn’t cast you out?
Somewhere Athene laughed while plotting your murder, “Perseus, bring me her head.”
We love to be fruitful; outside spring rises; we even describe the world in terms of ovulation.
Ai, mama mine, winter time.

][][

No one wants to remember how the goddess of wisdom, courage and womanhood cursed you for getting raped.
You would think that your name alone would shatter a civilization built on pomegranates and sweet wine.
Today apologists say that you were prideful, that you boasted, that the gods moved in mysterious ways.
So do priestesses. So do judges.
Athene didn’t curse Cassandra when she was raped in her temple.
She was young, fertile, still a thing of beauty.
But you, mother mine, became the exception to the rule.
Rules change. Honey and harp strings. Swine and flies.
Here is the head of a woman with snakes in her hair.

][][

Lovely-cheeked and
ironic. Your blood spilled
out vipers, Pegasus
and me.

][][

Hysteria: suffering of the womb, madness of the womb, but still a womb.
That which defines, that which engenders.
“As long as men ejaculate they will try to control what comes out.”
That which they cannot possess turns them to stone.
The change; you were desired once, Poseidon cursed you, Athene cursed you, Perseus cut off your head.
Now you have no more use, you and your sisters on Cisthene.
“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”
“Myself.”
“Doesn’t that fill you with rage? Coil your hair in fury? Make every pleasure into a wasteland? What do you feel looking at yourself being slain?”
“Why are you still talking to me?”

][][

“I looked into her stony eyes and see only myself.”

No, they aren’t stony, that is just what you want to see in them.
I call her mother the way I call all who taught me ancestor.

“Speak earth and bless me with what is richest.”

“Queen/ we claim you.”

“I am here to take/ back my Mother that/ you just Othered.”

I do not look like you, but I keep looking.

][][

We stripped the old woman to prove that her body was once like ours.
A man passing as a woman is a double blasphemy.
Not only is he an oppressor but he has a face like ours.
What is a revolutionist to do when monsters come in so many forms?
That which cannot bear seed must be rubbed out.
How to silence the wailing from the monster?
When it is time to pray at dawn there is the wavering sound of a man singing from the slender phalli of minarets.
Today Iran hung 16 year-old Atefeh Sahaaleh for “crimes against chastity.”
That is to say, Iranian judge Haji Rezai bragged that he raped and tortured Atefeh then had her hung to silence the girl after she removed her hijab and threw her shoe at him.
There are ghosts – – there are ghosts that stay with me that I love
the old man in drag – the daughter with the broken neck – my mother who turned her back
hush now, listen as we sever their tongues.

][][

resistance to
domination is part
of the domination
itself, oppression
adapts, by the time
you’re done reading
this you too are
complicit and
part of the system

][][

What a drag; every time they tell your story it is always the same.
Even the priestesses – holy of holy – do not falter.
They have named your malady, mother: barrenness, death of the womb, a monster with nappy hair.
It’s always the same remedy: a man beheads you and places that which he despises before him.
Because a goddess commanded it.

][][

You’re loved, you’re loved, you are loved.

Once there was an island.
And on it lived three sisters: Stheno, Euryale and Medusa.
And that’s all you need to know.

rootless

23 Monday Feb 2015

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on rootless

Tags

circles kissing water, I'm terrible at saying thank you, ofsoliloquies, poem, Poetry, rootless, sonnet

“take me to the poppy field, I asked my/ lover”
— — ofsoliloquies

[S]ister stalk the root taken from my jaw,
flowers keel over, the hothouse frame cracks

and curve. What you give I cannot name, gnaw,
wake or smoke your bouquets down to their flax

and heart. At the water’s edge I’m earthbound
but there — — “circles kissing water” — — spirit

troubling surface. Your words the good wound,
the wind that drags my hoop skirt and corset

from me. Point toward whiskey benediction,
up to the neck. Fill my jaw-hole, waiting

for the holy holy. Press nerve, milky
weed, cracked lips, reluctant waves suck crimson

down what you give rootless I blow letting
me name troubled waters holy holy

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