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Means
"I am sausage"
in Spanish
It would also be the best name ever for a luchador.
The error is
   somewhere between
                  the keyboard
                           and the chair
True story.
We ****.

I brushed her hair just
the other day
and left stinging
handprints on her
eager flesh like she
loves.

Loved her in an
undertow of
blankets and throes,
fullness and
folds

until the drums
pounded in my
ears and
the adrenaline
burned.

On altars,
in tombs,
the sabbats,
esbats and
moons.

We slap
each other
     for fun;
     she listens
when I tell
her to
.

I'm sure you and
your mate do just
fine,
but

we **** better
than all of you
combined.
This poem is about ****** *******.
Class,
repeat
after me:
I am not
my past,
my mistakes
or my shame
or my sorrow
or my loneliness
or my preferences:*
that's
noise,
crap,
icky
mind
junk.
Let
go!
Put
it­

d

o


w
  
    n*


I
am
all my
glorious
truths, and
idiosyncratic
secrets & stories,
their potential
and beauty.
We create our own unhappiness;
we can create happiness just as easily.
The unfortunate thing is that
we don't.
Not "you", the ego,
but your "you-ness".

Not a family member,
or a twig on a family tree,
but the life of the tree itself,
and the soil in which it grows.

Not a person,
but an essence -
a flavor,
a perfume.

A seed unfolds
idea into matter,
and imbues it
with Itself.

Soul
wears Body
like a suit.

Mind
liaises.

*(And these
are only
convenient distinctions
for the sake
of storytelling.)
Being is self-referential.
Doing unto others
as we do with ourselves,
we manipulate
and conceal.

Power -- poorly understood,
absent autognosia --
seeks gratification
and little else.

Bewitching
and unscrupulous
hypnotic pageantry
holding sway.

A visceral magick
used cavalierly
by vampires
on the hunt.

Rapt in the Promise
of continuity,
the world
watches on.
Mistaking "unfortunate"
for "unnecessary"
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