Peril Magazine, 2018
in the house where I was born
Indra & Agni make soma by the flames of my parent’s hearts
the fortune teller is shrouded in pale yellow flowers
and when he clicks his fingers
otherwordly hymns move in the clouds above us.
the woman with no eyes is a translucent widow
she floats above my hair like a stoned deity
the electric jellyfish distrubutes pieces of monastic blues
she writes them neatly on my lifeline
with sugar from bones of spirits who laugh in a language I don’t understand.
this is what she wrote on my liver:
look for it on a mountain
on a lake
in a lily
it will be milky.
the fortune teller coughs and grows another mouth
& when he clicks his fingers
otherwordly hymns move in the fire below us.
the woman with no eyes sings to a mirror in the sky
a song about all the ways in which to live a double life
there are four hundred ways to live a double life
it is written on the love lines on both my hands.
a lion with the head of a lotus sells soma in plastic bottles
on a street where one thousand magnolia laugh in a language I don’t understand.
soma could be ephredra, chicory, rhuharb, hashish.
soma could be otherworldly hymns moving through time & space.
Indra & Agni wink from within the flames of my parent’s hearts
the burning of the milk is such a thrill.