A Deer Priestess is standing on the sea, and
I watch as she coaxes jellyfish from the ocean,
to sing songs of oscillating neutrinos that crackle
and fizz with insatiable longing
to knit universes together from this briny sea.

Helios wanders across the sky, his sun-disk
neatly tucked into his chariot, smoking a cigar.  
Text fades and re-forms across the sky
and the sky starts to peel,
and words fall into my body and my body is text.
I edge closer to the stage,
yet I’m afraid of the sea, of the deep.
I don’t know what it means.
      
A dolphin swims below, outlined by inky black,            
ready to leap. “Come,” says the Deer Priestess,
beckoning.  I hear a steady da-dum, da-dum,              
realise it’s my heartbeat. Death shuffles
past — I think he’s in the wrong play.                             
The Cheshire Cat appears and disappears,
leaving only his grin flecked with froth from waves 
that flick and lick and I can taste the salt from
the spray. I teeter on the edge and time dissolves
into a myriad tiny suns.

“Get on with it!” someone shouts from the audience
behind me. “What does it mean?!” I shout back, but the
words fall from my mouth in paper fragments, as
Kafka floats by, atop a beetle.
The Deer Priestess is closer now and I realise that she is me.

Upon waking, I watch as my reflection,
shapeshift, dances, into the sea.

Honoring Buckethead Halloween
romaniac bucketb0t love

De la asta am plecat,
De aceea am continuat
Fără sa am vreo așteptare
De faptul ca am fost invitat,
De unde doar am menționat

Jason and Nick, Faustian Echoes dialogues my thoughts in regards to ours, lips my feelings.

"They lie outside the boundaries that words can address; and man can only grasp those thoughts which language can express."

In eggphrastic way, I end and say
The sun gets its own shadow under Buckethead's light.

Oh Vincent
whatever did you do
ripening fields of summer corn
and sunflowers of a brilliant hue
a shade no other eyes could see
except for God and you

Dear, Pa –
it’s your once-son
Danny – or better known
as Sandy, or Annie or;
Ann-Marie and to some
folks on 19th Street,
I’m known as a sinner, a ******!
My life is a movie, like
a catwalk model; and
I play a very special person, who’s got
no-one to lean on, no mommy to hold, and;
Wait, I know her. She’s familiar to me like,
I’ve known her since the beginning of time, but
right now, in physical form, she stands
in front of me in the;
mirror, Pa. Yes, I am her reflection, no
I mean she’s my reflection and I realize
that; all along, this whole time, I told myself
a big-fat lie; as a child, hatred and anger
were the tears I cried. So –
this one’s for you, my king,
my liege; this one’s the promise
that we’ll keep; this one’s the bond
between our sheets; but this one’s the
one that’ll point at you; before I lift
the middle one, to say, “***** You!”
But hey, Pa – here I am. A
woman, not a man. A bonafide,
sophisticated lady in minx
with, real diamond earrings and
fierce wings; those nails, my nose
and my lips – make me feel like I’ve
power at my fingertips.
Tonight is my show – it’s my time
to shine. And I’m going to **** it
like I know I can – so thank you Pa,
and thank you, ma’am. For giving
me the strength to be who I am.

(in heavy breath)
my eyes take her in
her body lying prone.
her smile, smothered in her pillow.
back arched,
she releases a moan.

(moaning, quite sharply)
my hands stroke with her cadence
staggered gasp
and with a click
i lock my screen
as her moans send me to space.
my own fluids are now
the fluid for stimulus,
for an eye rolling **** numbing high.

but in thirty seconds
i crash.

i am tasting myself now
with desire
with disgust
like raw eggs mixed with salt
like water laced with crushed paracetamol
exactly *** mixed with spit.

i sink into the dark musty scent
of stale air, *** and sweat.

and i awake
and once again
my eyes do hunger
and so does my ****.

Eshu, end your tricks now
it’s not funny anymore.

my gaze ***** everyone it meets.
it strips them bare
of their skin
of their flesh
it turns them into meat.
it grinds a person into produce.

these eyes are battered and harmful.
may they now rest, please?

Here, in this village,  
I, am unpigmented canvas  

my suburban skin,  
unfamiliar.

Where the trees
bleed colors of resurgence  

into the vacant
and vibrant damp,  

dark, earth below  
to begin and paint again.