The bare bone of loneliness, the sterile grief for the one who died. I felt only a sting, and then nothing. No memory of the cutting or passing of the knife, only you all alone beneath the harsh light. The tidiness of another moment where pain must be the solvent, oh the burden of my heavy hands paralyzed by the bone of silence. If only I could feel the witch’s breath and hear the cage door rattle, if only I could climb as high as you even though you were never there…

we walked deep into the forest valley and then wandered up a mountain trail, endlessly following this dirt path, up up up…led by nobody, lost and trapped inside her maze. Winding through the narrow walls of tree, if only I could melt and slip deep into the fermenting earth like worm or a root…

yes, god does give up on people…
yes, there are people more worthless than life itself.

Don’t turn me into the big bad wolf, lady killer. These horns are as big as a house and the roof in my head has a hole, a hole as big as a playground, where I keep track of my prey and fondle the big weary bone of myself. Walking circles around dried up mountains of me, looking for you as dead as ash on a cold mirror. Sniffing lines of Mary through a rolled up dollar bill, I forget every slowed down version of your weakness. Plod on lost fool, loser like the sundown, the axis is the rod and the trail never ends. White tracks in the snow, useless as usual. Spring may be approaching but not without it’s wreckage. Children don’t lie and cold babies can’t die. I am a storehouse of worn out magic tricks selling themselves as faces of you. Webbed monster, crawl out of my hole. No, it’s literal, it’s not poetry or crow’s feet. We got lost for hours looking for you. Finally we popped out on the other side, it was almost dark and the kind chain smoker took us home.

I was lost as soon as I saw the first light, smoke rising from the mountain’s chute blowing into the back seat where I sat. I could have prayed for this lost soul without even holding my breath and so I thought of you and wrung my hands. Little puppet, come make daddy happy. More than the fast lightening that lifts like strings from the strap, is my strong piece of serpent that whips like a mistress strung out on crack. Yes, I didn’t have to go there, but I did just for you. Meet me on the other side where the winding ends and we’re finally at the bottom, lost and looking for a home. Driver are you going my way? My way where horns flash and fish flop dry with no water at all. I don’t see why I should care, only the dust on the mirror remains and I clearly can’t get high on that…

how many roads can you swallow? How many peach pits can you bleed? How many trails lead to a nowhere, less than me and my sound hitting walls made of bone?

Night falls quickly once she sits down on his face, I think you know what I’m saying. Crushed like ice, inside of me, thirsty like rain in its own puddle of sludge. Tiny bugs make messes and I couldn’t tell who was who anymore. Red spot on the windshield as he drives and he murders, blowing smoke and taking us home. It was a long day climbing the bone of my meatless life looking for meaning in the rot of my very own flesh, the God that I cherish and respect and feed only organic fruits and vegetables and nuts and seeds and ugly thoughts of others who aren’t even there. I would rather strangle a piece of wood than hang myself from that tree without any valid roots you know what I’m saying?

East coast sabotage. West coast summary. Don’t bite off more than you can chew. Hahaha. I win without even playing. Sing sing a song sing out loud sing out strong…

I was listening to an astrologer, and I agreed when he said that everything bad that happens is the man’s fault. Totally true guys, grow some balls and quit trying to get a rise out of mommy…

out in the forest where we all get laid, stiff as a doornail, pounding the lady coffin, jones-ing to get inside. I kept saying, “go inside, get within,” yes, it’s just me and my lonely eulogy that I’m still here at all acting like I’m not headed to the electric chair.

Come on! Everything’s made of rocks and wood and you know it. We are allowed to kill anything green with no price but as soon as it turns red I’m in trouble? Whatever the blasphemy, these little pieces of detail only blur the sound of spitting fat deep into the womb of sister Mary. Bloody filth, stupid stupid child. Listen to your father and climb to the top then jump for no reason at all. Blame me for nothing, money doesn’t grow on trees, God’s fruits do. Now whose hungry? We aren’t getting any richer or younger or prettier so eat up, shut up and let the rest go…

I’m under a spell that I cast long ago called memory. She’s the real witch, not me. Remember the sterile vacuum sucking your soul dressed in white, wearing gloves and a mask? Were those tweezers you held? Plucking gray hairs that wouldn’t even matter, Hum drum.

That’s what I’d call it, Hum drum. If you’re so impressed with this version of hell, wait til you meet my older sister!

Haha. I wish I was kidding but I’m not. Crow’s feet have doubled their meaning, when you step on one, you step on the other…

sister, brother, enmeshed,
mother moonlight, father weasel,
get out of me and find a different hole to fill. Dirty pockets lined with charity, I get it and I still don’t care.

Sing sing a song, sing out loud, sing out strong…

widow’s peak is where I went and that’s my story, alone with my bone, chewing the hollow whistle.

Everything lonely. Everything sad. Everything tired of looking at me- meaning: sending the love to yourself and then sending it to others as yourself. Emptiness.

Emptiness: throwing rocks at birds,
jittery with no caffeine at all. Something is missing on the inside, something as solid as me. Our remains were never found, I think a wolf or a mountain lion ate us and we never woke up after that.

Everyone: touching the blade like they aren’t holding the handle, swinging from another sky. Pretending the daytime lasts forever won’t stop the wolves from eating you anyway. Fade to black is just the camera getting dirty again and it’s not that important because I don’t allow picture taking anyway. This isn’t a freak show or a circus act. This is the real lost with no more hope. Everyone can’t find anyone but this dead body of me- which has been mostly devoured and scattered as memories upon the mountaintop that I now call home.

Did you notice the song?

Euphoria: I claim this as my own stain of battle. Wild animals will eat almost anything but your soul.

Soul: my final prayer turning to wind as I died. I am only a bone and barely that. Shining and fat free, white, still and hollow. My bodiless voice calling God on the wind, while the wild animals lie in the sun, my old heart inside of their body and my human fur all over their face…

funny how things change and the earth turns over new leaves and snow melts and dead bodies let go and my soul is nothing more than a philosophical debate. Eat more, lose weight. It’s not what you’re eating, it’s what’s eating you, eat to live, don’t live to eat. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard them all…

and it’s not you, it’s me. Got it!
Did you know I used to be a comedian? Because I laugh at pain and I make the world laugh with me. You say morbid, I say maybe…

but alas, I fed the owls and the creatures. I fed the wolves and the mountain lions, I fed the angry and the listless, I fed the world without even trying. Who am I to shrink from failure, who am I to starve the thieves?

It’s better to give than to take, even when there’s nobody around but you. Stop eating yourself to death. Take the dog for a walk. Buy a new broom. Stop stealing crumbs from poor people.
Don’t breath second hand smoke. Don’t follow roads that go nowhere. Everywhere goes nowhere I know, but don’t do it. Give the lady light, not battery acid. Don’t stop moving because it’s getting dark. When you’re tired, keep going. When you fail, keep trying. When you lose, play again. Everyone is a loser, I know but the game must go on…

in the name of nobody, I scrape at old memories even though I’m dead- and I call those memories you. In the name of nobody, you are everyone I caught while I hunted. Kill the witch, she’s the devil making promises. Kill the witch, she’s the one who eats babies on the tops of mountains…

I am me and I’ll love forever, black or not…shrieking flames, don’t go where babies die…she lives in holes and has many mouths…she is a beast that wears hiking boots and smiles at small boys…she lives beneath the dangerous fog at the top of the hidden mountain and nobody knows how she does it. Does what?

Sends wild animals to pick up her mail. Lures full grown babies to dinner. Drinks vodka from the moon. Makes whistles from bone and plays the sound of eaten souls into their next life.

Could she be the one I’ve always wanted? Could she be the sting at the bottom of the hole? Could she be my stomach pulling hard against the tides? Could she be the only place left to go?

Enough about her, what about him? Who is he? He wears her teeth and he listens. He dives from the peak crossing over the flash. No picture taking allowed. He is winged and not entirely vacant. He is the force of her utterance,

“come children come.”

I didn’t go off on a tangent. This is a true story. If you don’t believe me, ask her yourself. But that won’t be easy because she only likes summer fruits and long slender arms and legs…no pudgy toads and she doesn’t kiss frogs. This is a real witch, not a fairy tale, pretty princess witch. My witch is all business. Hardcore sanitation. No pain, no gain. And that’s how you’ll meet her- when you see that there is no gain only pain in the struggle to step on the moon and put out the flashing light…because this is your home, the pretend domain where everyone with two sticks is given a name. She’s brighter than the sun and you won’t find her throat anywhere but here, like a drain pipe weaving through the valley of snow. She is on top and everything is inside of her.

Listen and hear her in the silence breathing you out of thin air…sing sing a song. Did you notice the song? The lyrics are always the same…scary because I’m only hearing,

“get closer to my heart…”
and you know what that means…
wild heart, what heart, where’s a heart?

Eating, whose eating now?
Climbing, whose climbing now?
Dying, whose dying now?
Dead, who died again?
Eating, somebody’s gotta go…

spring, summer, fall, winter, spring…

and I’m still nowhere to be found but in the hearts of the dead wild animals and their children…I will live forever as love, and even emptier than that, I will be you, into the seed, into the sun, into the earth, into the hole and back out again into the wind…under the cursed moon howling at the magic of hungry love…

I caught everyone who climbed my mountain.

I eat everything that has a face. I am the remover of the stain. I am the spell that I cast. I am a perfect circle with me in the middle. I am the one who they kill because she’s perfect and round. I will never die because emptiness has no chalice but me. I am wild and cannot be captured. Heart song. Widow’s peak home. Dead to the world.

some would say I’m hollow…
like a womb inside a mind,
inside a prism of bloody hearts,
devoured by nature in twos…

How would I know? I got lost on a mountain trail and never woke up until I got off the morphine and started walking again…

homeward bound,
I wish I was.
Sharada Devi


12 thoughts on “Witchcraft✨”

  1. Wish I were homeward bound to you,
    Comic Mother Light Of Infinite Love,
    Keeper Of Hearts, Beloved Eternal Queen Crystal.

    And yet the great test distilled to breath in now while here in the city clay and in slime and muck all around and how to be The Hollow Bone Light and Breath Of You in this maddening crowd of the living dead hungry ghosts. Your light at dawn purifies all heavy debt and thank you for your endless moonlight. Ki Ki So So
    Pure Tara Love, Tara Devi

      1. Your words are like drinking pure Moonlight water infused with the dream of what is true of the never separation from Mother Light from breath, from pure heart. From
        the ripeness of this Holy moment an alchemy arises for it’s She who fucashumas charnel grounds into abounding Amrita sacred fruit.

        You are the precious jewel of the eternal torch of pure Mother Light in the darkness of swirling black holes. You eat all and give all and Your burning inferno is an unleashing, both radical and necessary, a simultaneous dance of what will be forever the breath of unity of death and life.

        In the end surrender to all that is. You as You reveal You and eat all star dust matter and broken dreams and shattered hearts and busted up cars and jacked up streets and crooked poisoned souls and minds and babies born into addiction. And You scoop it all up and press All to Your heart, and Your heart is the whirling, twirling black hole that never ceases and this is home this Holy Hole of All. ❤️ Love Tara Devi

        1. Dakini of the whitest fire with bright and burning diamond eyes…looking everywhere under everything for anyone who can hear you…whispering in my ear day and night, I write down everything you say…alive on both ends, a lightening rod with wings- striking backwards- and forwards, and as still as a raging dove who is wise and wearing snakes…The White Summer Light Of Tara Devi is she who hisses and brings peace pure and true.

        2. From Tara Devi thru to all of you:
          “Now the Moon” she says..

          Tara Devi is forever devoted to the Great Bodhisattva of Compassion, Sri Sri Sri Avalokateshwara who made Tara Devi with a single silver teardrop, a teardrop of boundless love and compassion)

          Dearest Sharada Devi:
          I feel you holding my hand, this hand of yours that is familiar as we’ve held hands before in some other distant memory of faded bones now crushed to dust and walked on by sleepy tourists.

          And the ancient forever moon shines bright this night and in the summer warm air, I, too hear your voice and you read my thoughts and heart song and it’s not a surprise only how true and pure this mother light the breath is and what a gifted blessing to be so near, and yet this distance is heart breaking and so is the bitter and sweet of it all and so on this moonlit night I bow to the blessings of Her grace that drew us together on that odd Baltimore, Maryland night in a cold and dreary February. You, once only a dream, have opened an inner love for me where you shared light and Sherpa’ed with me into the dark, and the light was created instantly. I am seeing that there is a cost for freedom and we can never go back, for that little drop of awareness and opening is liberation itself in action, and this death I know is becoming life, the life that was planted before my birth. 💕💕

          1. beautiful boundless devotion.
            as wrathful as a bright eyed crystal
            and as peaceful as a sleeping snake.
            I do remember and the Guru is watching…
            never without the beloved.

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