Lady Libertine, I beseech thee.
Transform me with your kiss.
Infuse my tongue with drunken song
And curl my hands to fists.

Slake my thirst with your cyclix
And feast on my ruined bones
I have nothing left and offer it all,
No family,
No country,
No home.

I am the orphan in need of suckling -
the drunkard needing weaned.
Clutch me to your cold breast
and swaddle me in sage.

I slit my wrists and bear my chest.
I beg you strike me down
Give me one more drip of inspiration,
One last rite upon my crown.

Let me die with you on my lips
and bleed my heart onto the ground.
Lady Libertine, I beseech thee
end me with your kiss.

Take that, E.
E.
Cum
mings

-D-
-I-
-C-
-K-
-E-
-N-
-H-
-Y-
-P-
-H-
-E-
-N-
-S-
sung to the tune of the “Yellow Rose of Texas”

I’m already packed.
I’m ready to go.
I left this place.
Weeks ago.

I live out of a makeup case.
Use a backpack for a suitcase
I have paired my wardrobe
Down to indestructible accessories.

This time I leave a life line
This time I leave a trace
I got my compass
I found my north
A gentleman’s spirit
And an explorers worth.

I had to connect to both sides to do this.
For I contain both my father and my mother.
Both wanderers in their own way
One in the Navy
One in her life choices.
Both settled after the fray

I lead to follow the footsteps of my forebearers
To reconnect with things abandoned long ago.
I don’t know who I am any more.
I lost it along the way.
Every baggage dropped
was a thing forgotten -
A little piece of myself
discarded into dust.

I go to find them.
I hear their call.
Each a treasure
Once a curse
Bags on my back
Hands on my purse.

I clutch my instrument in hand
In all the meanings of the bards of old
I go forth with a clarion voice
And a story needing told.

I embraced Mother Earth.
I can still smell her on my skin.
I can still feel the strength of her bones,
beneath my hands that raked her soil.
Cast in the iron pumping through her like lava
flowing from her molten core.

I danced through her sands
and scaled every mountain peak
and followed the lead of her gentle curves.
The feminine form of the Pacha Mama,
The Gaia, the Demeter, that sacred body.
That well-spring of life,
The true feminine form
That is stronger than I,
welcoming me down
until I am buried.

Two black flowers reach
over graves of parted past
to touch leaf and stem

Their roots feed on buried bones
So their buds can bloom anew