A’bridged nuzzling.

The sun made like a runaway today.

Let me lay you on your back, bare.

Crawl up on you like a curious, hungry animal,

and occupy myself with sniffing your scent.

Smells of you.

Because, the smell of the skin below your wrist

is not the smell of the skin stretching over your ankles

is not the smell of the thumping skin above your jugular

nor that of the skin behind your ear.

It will not smell of the skin between your legs

which will not smell as does the stench of your armpit.

Or the smell of your open mouth.

And, my incessant humming

will become Sygyt.

The strangely drone of polyphonic overtone singing.

And once I’m done,

I would pad circles on you

, like a dog preparing to sleep

, of tossing and turning

, and

, wrapping round you.

For warm comfort.

Finding the right proper position of

a deep winter nuzzle.

Vision of the 36th Ellipsis.

Thirty five completed ellipses.

Comprising the matricies of now.

Begin compiling the thirty-sixth,

presently. Of today.

And, my eyes first narrow before going wide as the tableau reveals.

Speak to me mine sheep and mine mæstyre satyr.

No malice shalt invade my mind or sour myself,

yet, still can I sense your maleficent power

comingle.

Why do you howl thusly? And, do you know that

this has Æ heard before.

I want, too.

I want two.

I want to.

They have nothing if you less the faun

who dies thrice in triangular trinities

allowing

you to circumnavigate her through triangulation.

As drawing a five pointed star is not drawing a

six,

seven,

eight,

nine,

pointed one.

Quit your baying sheep for this shearing is not for you.

Æ, too, is a beastly, sacred dæmon,

sweetly contained in this gossamer and goosedown

Conspicuously unsuspicious.

Inauspicious.

I fear not your moment of judgement on this howliday. Thou shalt never judge me as harshly as

Æ have previously taken myself whilst in captivity.

Snarl, smile. Do you, now, see?

Why is ritual an honor to behold

?

You reply: because it should be so.

You could stop traffic dressed suchly.

Do you not know a pedestrian has paths to

right of way.

As I jaywalk onward,

across paths,

I find my head adorned with a sea holly wreath, in tribute to unknown;

see how its roots grew long and serpentine over æges ago

so that it may adorn without being torn

from the earth?

Unplucked.

Worn before; to be worn again.

I draw the force and send it mine in reply.

Starling a’wing, chasing behind me.

You awoke in a pond full of dead fish(,) talking.

And, only dead fish go with the tide.

Of the five streams pouring forth, sea-ward,

one unnaturally flows upstream to BayTown’s Strange-House.

The starling now a’lights on my left shoulder.

Worn as I wear the stow of the red dragon in early autumn.

A dance sought

That which transpires behind that which appears.

Captivating verging upon captive taking.

I’ve taught everyone No Thing.

I’ve told No Body everything.

Bones tapping.

Dropping skeletons to read the bones strewn,

recalling those cries from the crowded street.

Exuberance of the hysterical normalcy.

I dare you in this kindly sinuous challenge of tendons and ligaments.

A pale, dark-horse rides in, unbidden.

Flared nostrils from a face concealing a mirror of mind thinking:

If the dæmon would seek, Æ would ask a dance.

I’s as l’s

The lying face down on the bed,

before hearing

wrinkled hands on warm skin.

Soft.

Cranebuilding up.

Drawn downwards magnetic-ally

in the shade of magenta’s shadow.

I dreamt of the same drama that you did.

°

Yesterday’s sunset never occured.

The solar absence. A sick day.

A buzz-kill a’side a-bore.

The ocean laps and shifts against restless legs.

And, I’ve got nothing upsleeve and no

allies hidden downwind.

Just a few holes for perceiving, in my head.

A sternum pouting in slight protrusion below my breasts.

Perplexed for posterity, at the trivial causality and meaningless correlations.

So I make-up for you

this campy of collective nouns:

A coalescence of coral reefs;

A pert of pearls.

A cajolery of Tricksters.

A spread of betters and gamblers.

A quimper of quivers mixing with whimpers.

A dithering of doting.

°

Last night,

I felt that pulsing in my a gauche foot which precedes a muscle cramp.

I felt tied and tireder.

Wrestling with the dichotomy of physical inaction apposite the desire to action.

Beastly.

Scriven, scrivener, and a’scribe: I hear.

Aye: says Æ, whilst I nod.

I write my capital I’s the same as my lower case l’s

In my handwritten longform.

I do.

Æ does.

Aye.

Dreamt the Within from Without

I recall a big, yellow, American-style school bus,

in the middle of the desert.

I just arrived.

There are extraordinarily beautiful, tall, elegant people about, maybe fifteen total, leisurely milling. They have nothing pressing to which they attend.

I am alone and new, per se.

I am acutely aware of this.

I feel disapproval.

I receive an unfriendly welcome; this I derive from the expressions of the others as they take notice of me, for the first time.

A stunning, pale-skinned blonde approaches, motions to the school bus, and, with perfectly calculated ‘disinterest’ says:

They can teach you the ways of death.

As though this was that which I sought.

Of course, you’d need to talk to Kimberly first.: she says.

I say: Kimberly is actually my cousin. She is already dead.

I intuit this disarms her through surprise.

My immediate understanding and audacity to speak it to her face.

And, (no shit) I think: Nice try, you silly bitch. I wilt not fall for your maleficent insinuation. I am just barely pretty and charming enough, in a strangely colloquial way, to have made it to this place of your people. I know your resentment of my prescence leads you to seek my removal, but I am in no rush to die. I certainly will not seek my death at your subliminal request. You feel threatened by my uncultured, odd intelligence. There is no reason for this. I do not want to mess with the circles within which you run. I am no threat. If you were slightly less self-involved, you would perceive this and make me your ally.

I’m the proud-beauty of your worst night-mares.

I say to her mind, in mine silent stillness: Æ ain’t leaving on that short, yellow bus. You may try to trick this fool into it; but,

Æ see through this mirage you call an oasis.

She walks away.

I pull out my stakes, canvas tarp, and tenterhooks.

Pitching camp before the freezing night comes.

I come from the water: a voice of my head suddenly says.

(I briefly become lucid in the dream, before losing the thread.)

I recall: there are four, fundamental groups: Water, Earth, Sand, and, blood.

Æ am a blood, but no-one can tell, unless Æ tell them.

I had reached the Sand after arising from distant Water.

We all came from Earth, but I had not been there or seen them in ages.

And, as Æ am thinking these things, I feel an intensifying heat rising in both hands.

Fingers and palms burning in sensation, not flames.

I think: I have the power to raise intense heat from my hands. I can emit it into the world around me, perhaps as a weapon. I feel over-confident.

I examine the feeling more closely.

I discover that Æ am not radiating the heat from within myself.

Heat is being emitted from an invisible sphere outside myself.

The orb is somehowl held in place between my palms, as if strung upon a string.

Like a diabolo.

I reach this revelation after experimenting. Moving my hands closer together/farther apart. Noting small changes in nerve sensitivity.

What I first thought was coming from my Within to the Outwards is actually being generated from the Outward and perceived and wielded by mine Within.

Feathers of eyelashes

Even in dreams, I remain yours.

I have come for none other.

The smell of chai spice pours skyward from the pot of boiling water.

Vapour blessing the room like sage humbly burned.

Pealing recalling things and those missed.

Blushing cheeks and bitten lip.

°

I have seen the city skies from on high; they light up like an introspective brain’s neural network.

Psst. Wake up.

Pushing my nose deeply into your neck,

to inhale; get your smell.

I wish to entwine the two;

Make the aroma of chai ever tied to the scent of you.

I remind myself to not forget this, mine intent,

whilst batting this piece of your thin skin with

the feathers of my eyelashes.

rock skipping

A rock skips on its toes’ tips

across Looking-Glass Lake.

It is true that what you do not know can hurt you;

and, in doing so, cause you pain you do not rightly sensate.

You just know it hurts.

Onkwehónwe {ref. Kanyen’keha}.

°

And, the phrase, “nobody cares” set the captives free and captivated the enslavers.

°

Your apophasis disinclines my disposition towards you.

“That would be my preference,” says B., the scrivner.

So. Let him. He simply wishes to copy the original documents into his longhand.

°

Pedantic pandering over over-excitabilty.

A knockout; A decision; A draw.

°

You’re not like most people.

You’re right. I’m only one person, not the multiples comprising most. Extraneously speaking, I distrust the correlations derived from “most people” statistics. They never draw from a supple, sufficient, sample population.

°

Elevate your base

because

despite not proud,

you can remain unashamed.