Twelve-fingered Witch

My mind is a twelve-fingered witch

rearranging air into flames—

learning innumerable routes

to your caves filled with sizzled sin.

 

My dreaming is disaligned, pinned

in a shadeless tree, lonely and

misunderstood. I bite the wind

like a black god of the desert—

 

and volts of blue light snap my woods

out of sight like a white prophet.

Your waved hair silks my ribs—gets hold

of my roots. I found your nude thigh

 

in haunted villages, ashamed

where the night suppers the last days.  

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s