the shrine of her child

a mean girl, a hungry man, the second one, the only one. two faces fold the night goes black. we switched again and the backdrop fades. purple moon, deaths horizon, daunting deep, my blood horn drips. a girl is sad and wants to die, the man eats her food unhurried. there’s something in my eye, the screen dies. i hear that train from far away going far away and i pretend it’s me, inside. where no one leaves here, ever.

and i sit and watch the birds entombed and i wonder what’s all the rushing. tremble branch while no ones looking. let’s pretend we’ve found the way to touch. far beneath the surface language where tongues don’t move and words don’t bite. but quieter where death comes seeping, through the spoon, the root, the fallen shoulders. the girl wore fangs that no one saw. the man ate through her, his body. the bird sang from branches made of talons. the roots drank our blood while no one watched.

and he came and he was here, just a nobody crying from my eyes. every footprint. every breath. every mouth was mine. and she left and was gone, just a nothing beating from my heart. every leaf, every whistle. every bloody bone she left.

if no one understands my words. if no one hears my silence. i don’t care, not anymore. i sit and watch clouds open and close. men in pale blue with silver eyes lined the sky above me last night. they kicked at empty shells and their eyes never moved from mine. women who were formless heaved from my chest last night. they stabbed at me with knives made of glass. there were no stars in that sky only racks of homeless people. all for sale, all dying. all wanting me to move over and make more room. dinner breakfast lunch dishes money. a big vacuum is coming down the tracks.

she doesn’t touch anything and no one touches her. he doesn’t hear a word and she chatters all day. the sucubus. the winged messiah. the hornets with iphones. how will I feed them all.

it has been said, if it isn’t broke don’t fix it. it has been said, a way to a man’s heart is his stomach. it has been said, you are what you eat.

and i’m like a rolling hill, i just don’t care for more. like you, i am like you. with no windows and no doors. without any air in the room. lonely
framed faces planning vacations. doctors appointments, schedules that mean progress. i am invisible writing to the gods, for them, who i cannot prove, so that i might be saved from this story. my own thoughts of you. and you all think you’re you. i know when i’m outnumbered. this disappearing doesn’t stop it only gets darker. what i mean is there is no escape from the images. only words can lead the way. only promises that flutter will give death  life. it means nothing however to anyone seeing…

she’s just an angel. he’s just a thorn. he’s just her weapon, she’s just his vice. (yes, i am holding myself accountable for this page.)

we just found this. we have blood on our foreheads. she watches as the eagle now. he rattles a gourd. I have evidence that they’re always watching. from within the eclipse we turned words into ash. it meant something. the shrine of her child. sharada devi

28 thoughts on “the shrine of her child”

  1. I can feel your words, like ribs.
    Something is empty, except for a stomach full of blood; images make it churn. Images of bright death, and the dark one waiting…

    I imagine it is still waiting there. Through the depth of me. Something to look up to… Because I can’t stand failure, and every day feels like an empty beer can. Trash.. never enough. “Where is it going?”, is my only solace.. The train is coming. The one in my mind, that I see. Disappearing and taking me. One way or the other- it’s real, what we give ourselves to.

    The bird watches, as it all goes.

    Ribs like musical notes, give myself to the muse. Spill blood, make love, train will wreck. You will be my love, waiting, like me.
    I can hear it, holding, breaking spilling, growing, and crying to be heard, as it is.
    Just a shrine, bright in the unbelievable sky. Emptier than forever.

    1. I would write more. But my words have fallen silent in this body of mangled God.

      We were there and so we know. No one has the words to say what’s important.

      It’s the noise that imprisons. It’s the silence that terrifies. Let us face our own.

      Beautiful writing fire bird

      1. I felt a beating heart, left in the cold. If it is you that is broken, it is me that will know…
        Where I saw a carcass, drug through the snow.
        Bright and alone, we will both go. But I’m letting you know… in my eyes you will flow. If you melted before I did, die in the snow.

  2. eyes closed
    blood stained nightmares
    piercing sounds
    wake cold empty bones
    open mouth
    licking sauce
    spicy tongue
    reaching higher
    throat turns inside out
    goblins roam the avenue of veins
    racing back to the heart
    beating without breath
    no time
    empty bowels
    losing control
    nowhere to go
    nothing to do
    for pure

    1. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me…”

      Failure, chaos, and deep suffering are inevitable in this fallen world.

      For there to be a shadow, there also must be a light. You are not alone.

  3. hallowed banquet. a starless night’s feast. so many hunger when i never want to eat.
    red glow of fresh death. stolen heart, spirit flown. a state of grace for those that prey.
    the living tomb is vast, the rituals exhausting.
    silence is too loud. an empty drone but for the lone death rattle.
    they are always watching. there is no hiding place for the secrets i might keep
    out in the world tending to the ruse designed to keep me human
    forced movement save to keep the game alive.
    i am the choices that i make. if i am broken, can i be fixed?
    the kitchen is now a foreign territory. another language i can’t speak
    if it wasn’t for the darkness, i would never know the light.
    “it means nothing however to anyone seeing…”
    “ it meant something. “
    a myriad of truth, a paradox of words
    the way my head squirms at the thought of making sense
    bang the drum slowly

    1. I catch a glimpse
      it’s gone
      i know it’s there
      the meaning
      somehow lost
      but not forgotten
      is that not
      the light
      through the darkness
      and in
      the light
      it’s a tight

    2. the deer disappeared.
      it really did,
      drug through the juniper trees
      by otherworldly forces.

      The drum was inside
      the soul was unearthed.
      They’re coming for us,
      will you be here soon?

      It’s the beginning of something
      turning nothing to less than
      memory’s bones.

      1. i think this was a reply to me, but it’s hard to see with all this moon.
        🌙 🙈 ☀️ 😸
        nothing surprises me anymore,
        even turned to less…
        the shape that it takes to hold memory or the lack
        the shape that comes to bring the beginning
        otherworldly forces.
        sunshine proves that no one dies
        will i be there soon?
        i am partially present making my way across the distance of that star-filled air
        laughing, crying, living, dyeing
        bright night , dark day
        something begins

  4. the answer
    is the rip
    a glimpse
    the tear
    it’s taking
    that sword
    gaining the
    deep deep deep
    from the depths
    of the bloody
    the pain
    when I am cut
    in half
    I will
    still remain

    1. you’re funny.
      It’s the snake eating its tail.
      nobody is cut in half.
      Remember the axis,
      these shreds of moonbeam.
      are just a joke,
      No one dies 😹

      And I just can’t get it out of my head.
      Am I the only one,
      laughing and dying!😂😹🙀

      1. SO much truth
        about selling our blood.
        that is why mostly I stay alone…
        I am so alone these days.
        but in a good way…
        not lonely
        only for strength reasons…
        venturing out lightly
        with great care

  5. I found a body. It was the part of evening where you can’t tell night from day. A once majestic buck lying half in, half out of the creek. Bloody rocks and sticky, matted fur. An eagle sitting on an antler, satiated. I knew she was there, as I heard her screaming to her kin to come claim some food. I was repulsed, but too curious not to look. The buck’s brain partially exposed revealing hidden, intricately woven, rainbows of color, disguised as vein and tissues. The eagle saw me but was not intimidated by me. She looked at me with one clear amber eye, ancient as the earth. As silent as a child hiding from its fear. Was I? I imagined the deer remembered this sacred spot and came here to die after being hit by a car possibly. The great spirit eagle came and nourished her body. Energized, she carried the deer’s soul up high to the next dimension, but merely a breath away. Being blessed by death, where fear hides no more. Om Ma, Mahakali. Take from me all that is not free. 🙌🏼 True story.

  6. i went back just now and looked again at the photos taken from SADHANA FARM.
    Of the paintings, there is one with a being dressed in the skin and antlers of a deer.
    He is banging a drum.
    Above that is a painting of two beings dressed in robes.
    One is standing under a juniper tree.
    All three paintings show 3 different doorways.
    i didn’t think i remembered these details, but something made me go back and take another look.

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