Violently One

Forever you, the only one, tracing the outline of someone before, the smell, the sound, the hands moving from an earthier heaven than I. Forever me, the only one, bound by regret and the image of you all a blur in the dusk of what was. Cold and covered in the winter when nobody but you knows who lives underneath- breaking open like ice beneath a force too heavy, I might see inside you as I move alone upon your opulent body. I might see you inside myself looking back and waiting for me to find you…to see the shine of new eyes touching the weakening pulse of this shallow despair. I can’t be alone. The winter is too dense a betrayal, the emptiness is buried too deep. You can’t be without me, there isn’t a tongue in your hungering mouth…on my slanting island, anything could be anybody and you hide behind it all breaking my trees and killing my moons…

and so I sunk once again naked and unborn into the broken sea branches and blackened sea weeds… and a stir wasn’t heard inside the hollow of my bubble- only a blue wind licking cheeks of red skinned fire. Turn over in the wedded night and fold up any hope of my return. Dig up the ancient mummy’s tomb. Uproot the clotted, remembering tree. Someone else is waiting under cloudy waters filled with vein, beneath me in this salty churning bed is the black fume of my spreading eros…a vaster and more reckless union than I alone could ever become…tasting the welts, steam rises from the core making promises…

but you don’t care, you’ve got your substitute body and you think I’ve imagined it all… and I always write the same thing anyway- how the moon disguises or deceives and how the sun forgets or incinerates. The same chaos of making ends meet. The same old death wish wrapped in god noise, the same angst blessed by only my own imagination. The same flag waving from the other side of night saying, “Come this way, I’ve found the authentic dawn.”
These words of mine eclipsing our eternal isolation, our eyes that peel the pain away- these words of mine about a different place than here- a place where we rise like smoke and cover the sky with our shadow- where her dangling fingers hang from his steady palm…where we touch the other from within our open sewers where we swim and seep and become sordid and divine.

How will I ever find you again?

Bhagavan Das just said to me, “Do you know what happened to Mama Cass? The pig got stuck in her throat and she died.”

It seems like we just keep dying the same old unromantic and predictable way…

I eat you and I could kill you by dying. I will devour you either way- deep inside of me filling my growling stomach with pork -or just the fat stuck in my throat as a man that I couldn’t swallow…and you could always kill me with ham and cheese on rye.

And I die- lock jaw- think about it genius…

I’m not changing the subject and I do make sense-from the astral perspective the crumbled lie bagless- don’t throw away a good thing even if she’s balled up on the floor- and chew up whatever you put in your mouth until he’s liquified so that you can swallow without being killed (and certain “foods” are obviously better to eat than others) Don’t die a scouring beggar or an obese creature of the swamps and don’t die malnourished by your lack of holy pig. Die with me scavenging your heart blissfully reminding the dead of each other’s racket.

Hahaha skullcup!

Love Locket, I would wrap you around my neck if I could.

Violently One,  Sharada Devi



4 thoughts on “Violently One”

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