music box

I would like to salvage the music box, the one with the unattached dancer who twirls…as a stitch for the eyes on a faceless doll, as a prayer for a drunk, face down in the gutter, as a nice ass who doesn’t need a nice face necessarily, as a bitch with a broom who always seems to have a mouth, as a wild dog who sat on my priceless face. She is a skinny ballerina, perfectly lifting and spinning, unwed to this tragedy, listening from a kinder world, face forward looking into his pants, gracefully she dances in her box, to the same song again and again, to the melody of unheard rage, for the rest who watch her in the singing box- a brazen rhythm with a hellbent twist, the rest of us are not dancers, we don’t move well enough to the music she plays…

I seek redemption from her helpless and alarming beauty. From what I see in front of me because it makes no sense at all…

I live in a stillness where even the fallen autumn leaves do not rustle and although the wind is howling, we are strangely silent. In a place where
I am everywhere, suffocated and falling from the sky in spirals… dancing beneath the silver haze of oblivion’s shoreless moon…there you’ll see my silhouette appear luminous, breathless and menacing- a body of light opened at the void- strung like pearls from the top to the bottom- spinning me -beyond gravity’s cross that hangs from around my neck -I’m weightless, my feet can’t really touch the earth, yet I remain embedded deeply in every heavy heart, knowing only my endless breaking branches- and as always I move to the sounds coming from the box- my face as a portal unseen- completely hidden by the swaying brood of her nightmarish gaze. Will you approach me where I stand spinning the sunless shadows…will you come outside and find me in the trees beneath it’s bones…because redemption is lost in translation when she doesn’t look at you anymore…

a metronome- a single tap
in her realm of measureless desire
there is no enlightenment,
there are only 4 quiet walls.
where thinking is the passing
of her lull dull and spun out eyes,
red with delusions of my soft skin
that will soon be sagging…
it’s a bad image in your head
a barren womb of confusion…
a moving flame in the opal…
a foolproof illusion…
“stop reaching out to that fake black face” she’s a sex horn blowing murders as she moves in and out of the projection of her colored frameless light- with white swords for eyes, she gets on. She gets in. She gets off. Not you loose one…

“I will slash the idea of you into ten
easy bites because my dark horse is still hungry…” and you thought you’d seen it all…

but she is everywhere as everything, trapped in the swelter of time…and so the rows of armless trees are empty, where have all my branches gone…I never had a hold, no matter how hard I held- onto that which blazes and falls, dead, back into the earth, as the ashes I cannot feel beneath cold feet…yet still, he stood there, always the same face, looking back into her…because I have appeared as the moon to him tonight, glowing and quiet… and there was a feather in his hair and a crooked cross carved into his chest- “what does it mean?” he was screaming, standing on the blue earth night, red and naked, blinded by my shining sight, with a hatchet in his hand and a crown of thorns upon his head -an eagle flew above him watching for my sharp and rootless kiss- his face was painted and wide, a beacon for death’s rapid approach-
he once said he thought he knew me as a dweller deep inside his soul…and he once said he thought I was taking the shortcut home…

so I said to him, “there’s only the long way and it takes forever unless I ride upon the lighter horse.”

he said,  “I’ve got nothing”

so she silently twirls as if nothing were said…and my tongue just keeps lolling waiting for his pure blood…

and you’re wrong, he was a savage just like me, expecting pain to be the price… I love the darkness just like him- we call God our father-killing  where my light shines brightest, I can be exactly as I look- deep inside of his heavy, reaching heart…
“Why have you forsaken me!” and the sky grew darkest as I entered his soul…climbing him like a tree “I’ll take you back, don’t worry” Maimed and cut open, lumpy and pale, sewed up and gasping for one more chance to go…

into mother, who is god on earth, into the feathered father, whose only a passing bird, and into the holy ghost who nobody knows in person…and everybody sees the mockery of faith as just a bleak and sinister image up on the hill…

“heaven help me.”

I am a warm heap of promise lying at the foot of a broken man. I am his concubine matted in boars. I am the mother of god’s dirt- the giver I am is that I have gone unpunished for corrupting you- and the taker I am is that I am hooked and barbed and trickier than you, and you have no way out but through my black eyes- and because I have no allocation, I do whatever I want to do, appearing as the dirty deed, seeing as the diamond mind -who redeems the hunger in fragments -below the waist of human sacrifice – with whoever tells time on my watch- I keep looking, blinking in theory, but always alone like a stone never moving- I am the timeless golden rain falling upon body ranges and mountain peaks, green valleys grow because of me…so tell me how you like it- how to say, “get down from there before you fall.”

That’s not what I mean at all. Give me another chance to say the same thing. “get down is your only chance.”

I love, love. Not you as an item per se…she never gets out of the box either…have you already forgotten the dancer? I think you have, and I’m only ever referring to her timeless, unchanging, selfless love…trapped in a windless box.

So I said that he cannot leave the box without dying. Obviously. It takes 3 days to see through me. 3 days to die in my arms. It’s a dimension with 4 arms reaching in all direction. The dancer is giving you absolute requiem with every move she makes…

but you want it darker. You think you can kill the flame.

You could die today. It’s no mistake, the bed you never make. Sunlight through the tapestry, an ancient father cursing inside the room of doom. I brought you here to say goodbye to him, to kill you inside that dirty, tepid room. Today is the day that you could die, I could have beaten you to make you cry, I could have ground you beneath me – this is about the bitter end, the last goodbye, but you want it darker. I might have been the sunlight winding up your leg, I might have let the real one in. The hit in the hand that’s risen, the naked silence undercover, bearing bony arms and holding father’s sin. Thrashing, banging, the mind of violent -beloved
cut outs of made up women, cameras and mechanical tears-the machine is stuck frozen in your voice -and so the home of my warm voice turns you inside looking to the outside of me for a short cut or a friendlier dancer…I brought you here, choice-less and losing. You want to see her more clearly beneath a brighter lamp, turn up the volume, spread her legs wider, become a nicer spider… it’s a box, remember, and she’s inside of you laughing as you squirm….should she bare down a little deeper, push a little harder- pound the stake right where it hurts the most- or should she squeeze tighter and tighter gripping that holy ghost by the throat, choking and praying, gurgling yes, don’t stop now, here I am rising from the dead…with brand new sharpened teeth…so adorable…

It’s just never enough…Snuff me. Redeem me. Somersault, be afraid of me, me, the you, that you can’t be. I’ll take you deeper where cowards drown, I’ll take you below the safety hole, I’ll fuck your father just so you’ll know- It’s no joke, I am
her face in every adjustment you make- every position you take…it’s a realm of dictation beyond the chosen few- everyone gets off inside of her, that’s why she’s laughing at your sexless humor….hahahaha forever and ever…

She’s beyond redemption, it’s zilch in its counterpart. She’s just doing whatever she wants. Do you need anything else?

And still, after everything I’ve said, you still think you’re bleeding or burning or whatever- on that bad ass cross -looking down from the bleak and sinister hill at what could have been, what you really deserve…it’s all my fault you were born, blah blah blah…looking into that white pure land at what should have been yours…hahaha…where the days are eternal and vivid in bliss. Where the virgin dances seductively for only you. Where the white dusk, wears a pure white mask. Where white flowers drift from white clouds. Where white is the softness of her harmless and perfect hands, holding white light up to the white face of a giving heaven, a real god who knows how to bless you just right…

I’m telling you to give the earth back to the sky. I told you, today you could die…lay down. surrender the mask. Everyone knows it’s you…

moving into the vision where the prophet is knocking… it’s all in the same book after all. The shit we should erase, but never do…

The dancer, the die-r- the giver, the buyer-

I knew he was coming, so I put on a mask made of soft and erotic feathers- watching him from the tunnel of my black eyes- he should have remembered…so I grabbed that smoldering rod of aching, earthbound flesh- until he shuddered and gave up his cracked open skull- until he knew me as the one with deep roots into his hollow agony-“you’re just a writhing dirty skeleton as white as spent dust, you have nothing to offer me but sickness and death -seeing the future is hopeless”…. this is where I came at last to meet him face to faceless -to the immaculate vision of me when he comes into my certain night- and sees only painted images of goddesses crying…perfectly high and mounted -maybe as a christened god, exotic and withholding -maybe as the mother of christ -or maybe just the virgin mary all alone and wasted, or maybe as someone as bloody or burnt as you…”I don’t know.”

So I said to him inside of my box, with his ashes covering my body of pearls…

“You need to learn how to dance”

It’s what my spoof is made of, nothing but emptiness, sprawling and hot…red coals living in the corpses that I play with…

Sharada Devi

11 thoughts on “music box”

  1. The rain just keeps falling from Her empty sky and she dances us to death and we sing our song. You have to catch the song, it,s the breeze of her warm breath. How to just be crystal bone in the cave up on the mountain. Worldly people only see the waves on the ocean but never meet the whale. They cut down a hundred year old tree in there backyard and now it’s stuck in New York City for the glory of the zombies. But the mamos (mamos are malefic female elemental spirits) will destroy the vibes because the great spirit lives in the roots of that tree. The cool stupid crazy couple stand on the stump and wave at the camera. “Look at us, we’re famous for a moment.”
    Yes everybody knows but nobody cares. The roots of that tree go deep into the dark earth and that house is cursed for the mamos are making your mind crazy. The shaman with the white vulture feather in his hat has come and the flames of wrath clear the air. Her lion face roars with laughter as she flips you back into your muck. The moment is now to get down and cry and cry and feel the touch of her blood drenched hands,
    Nowhere to go, and nothing to do, just stay with the NOW.
    Rain dancer as Rahu baba

  2. The dance and the dance and the intimate infinity endless dance
    it’s the ancient bones the hollowed bones
    of golden light burning in the fury
    of the holy raging inferno
    you, you brought the breath
    and end it all with a twinkle in your eye
    end it all
    and it’s a fire that’s burning deep
    forever awakening to the radical truth
    of what is here and now
    and the only thing I can do is stay in the heat
    and burn burn burn
    and breathe and surrender
    to your holy raging fire
    and prostrate to the blessed heat
    the burning inferno
    and pray these bones are hollowed
    so that lava liquid light fills every cell
    and is in my every breath —
    nothing else matters
    but you
    the mother light comic breath
    and my all surrendering little heart
    shatters and with your Vajra Kilaya knife
    you chop up all materialism
    tossing chunks of human flesh to your beloved flock of hollow boned vultures… throwing all that remains
    into the enteral holy fire 🕉

    1. Beloved Tara Devi
      says everything
      inside a single tear…

      nobody understand.
      you bring me peace.

      devotion to the mother light
      no matter how ugly her face
      makes you so beautiful
      to me…

      love and devotion.
      motherlight sees.

      simply perfect devi,
      white goddess of wisdom
      and endless giving…

      I will always love you
      as you are.

  3. I’ve been Writing letters to the souls who seem have something or a way to get some where that I can’t by myself. Writing Letters to Artists, bus drivers, dancers, and fathers. When I asked God to help me sleep, it was scary when I started getting sleepy. That was a log time ago. I sleep on my own now. Last night I heard the music and it was disturbed, or maybe I was just being disturbing and there was the music. I will Doe see dough no more. No sing – no dance! The smoker went to the realm of the creator people and the chief went to find him. He had lost his dootAh and nothing was funny anymore. The myst rising in the fields – an empty reminder that I may not love again. The muck has supreme hold and the chief can not fly

      1. Thanks you! I know I have an awkward angle. You are super kind and come through in amazing blessings and Sunbows like God herself ☂

  4. Saraswati music angel
    Instruments of BHA
    Void of air –
    Die-ving in
    The juice is fresh
    The dew is new
    The tears of despair
    The danseuse
    A broken-hearted noose..
    I feel the air
    I breath the wind
    Of her sacred ohm
    Free of clutter
    Free of coddle
    The mother
    The father
    The lover
    The cadaver
    Piece by piece
    Never to feast
    Beyond the black sheet
    Lays rolling rivers
    Of rainbow crystal light

    Thank you.
    Thank you.
    Thank you.
    Thank you.
    Thank you.


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