what has come to this
indigenous things we do~
better follow the others
cause what once was fiction
now rings true

can't blame apocalypse
our letters aren't edible
and judicious arrangements
are post script letters

so i embrace the gift
that i'm a wandering wolf~
cow paths lead to danger in my book
and these sheep follow bull's ****

raw hide as a service
systems on delivery
don't follow lines of those deserving this
what has come
& what will be

I’ll see you in the future.

I’m going to say, “I miss you.”

You’ll tell me words are hollow. “If you really miss me, show me.”
You’ll say, “I have two kids now. Doesn’t that bother you?”

I’ll admit, “I know. It’s okay.”

You’ll be entirely made up of mechanical gears and electrical circuits, with light emanating through the cracks in your skin.
I shouldn’t mind. It will be me who makes you this way, after all.

As we push further into the future, you’ll be less impressed with every hour that goes by. That’s how she was. So that’s how you’ll be.
Maybe I’ll be sad to see it, but I’ll be happy knowing that even if my perfectly imperfect creation decides to leave, like she did, you won’t get so far before you’re completely drained.

And only I will hold the key to restart your heart.

Just as she has held the key to mine, all this time.

My Aphrodite, My Bast
I call you “The Goddess”
My Cerridwen, My Diana
The Goddess of what?
My Freya, My Gaia
You ask me what I love
My Hera, My Isis
The ancients had many aspects
My Juno, My Kali
I worship all of yours.
My Lakshmi, My Maat,
Even if deadly...
My Pavarti, My Rhea
I did not create you
My Themis, My Venus
But I adore your creation.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Druid is Derwydd
in our tongue
the Welsh of my fathers

Our land is called Cymru
and we have thrived here
since ancient times

We live by our cattle
first
our hearts and families
second
and our crops a poor third

We are taught that
a mist descended on our land
in the before times
and cleansed the earth of life

And that a new people came
our people
and brought with them
cattle
all of the trades
and a gift for song

We were called Celts
but now we are proudly
Welsh
the dragon is our badge
and red war our way of life

The Derwydd
are our guides
they follow the stars
know the mystic tides
teach our young
and ease our old
into the afterworld

Never cross a Druid
they say
or feel your tongue
curl into burnt leather
in your mouth

Please a Druid
and luck will
lay by your side

I am called Caedmon
wise warrior
son of Lhur
born in the shade
of a great oak

I was taught all of the high arts
poetry
music
and war

If ever you travel
through our fortress-locked land
you will be welcome
at my hearth

Come
bring your sweet pipes
and play
bare your sword arm
and raid with us

When we return
cattle rich
then the feast will begin
then the bards will sing
and poetry will open your mind
to the harmonies of heaven.

The raven is my eye in the sky
Swift and stealthy,
She cuts through the clouds
Her song rings in premonitions
Forewarning and foreshadowing
Any luck or omen that might meet me

The wolf and her pack are my ears
Listening for the buzzing in the forest
Striding through the leaves with discipline
She knows by the look in her eyes
By the fierce smile and sharp teeth
That she has my respect, and we are the same.

Bright sunny days and cool nights we wake beside the fires light and to the tweet of the twite. we give a prayer for the day to go right. And for the plight of our ancestors. Whom we raise stones to celebrate. But who will know these rites if we don't tell? Aside from those who Dawn all white?

Who on earth is up this hour,

It's barely even dawn,

And what's worse, I start to curse,

They're out mowing the lawn.