Celebrating Litha Dancing the Dizzy Circles

around the basil burning bonfire
’til her head explodes-
soul visions sprouting
violent violet tendrils
while the fire whispers lullabies.


A Girl From the Fields and Pines

I used to pretend that I was not from the crawdad holes, the dandelions, and the
wheelbarrows of horse manure.
How hard I tried to hide the smell of clover, willow wreaths, and baby robin
feathers outside of my heart.
I packed these things in a metal lunchbox along with the stick forts, the chiggers, and grass stained knees
and buried it beneath a baby pine.
But buried things don’t stay buried forever.
Laughing at the lightning in the concrete jungle gave me away, and the way
that I could tell that a sunny summer day was about to throw a tantrum,
and the always saving earthworms from the sidewalks.
And one day I opened that rusty old box,
and I found my heart also inside stitched up with cicada shells and baby rabbit fur. (a girl will always try to revive the dead baby rabbits that the cats killed)

How I Became Water in the Forest One Night

The shadow people are taking away the stars
with nets in the sky,
wounding it with dark holes
and the scarred sky is crying.

These sky children trapped
in the cave they are dropped into,
broken and disillusioned,
forgetting their light.

They dwell there in the dark corners
and rocks, becoming. (becoming shadow people)
Forgetting their softness, becoming hard
and full of dark holes and cracks.

They also stole the moon and
placed her in that cave with
the lost children.
She found them and fed them dust and songs.

She reflected their missing light,
and showed them their strength.
They didn’t have to be shadows anymore.
If they didn’t want to be.

Become water to escape, the moon said.
Here on this earth as water
you can fill everything with love
and you cannot be caught with a net.


We were like a mirror within a mirror
reflecting infinity into each other’s souls.
You felt like a home to me built of oceans
of star weeds and moon dust and the debris
of thousands of years of longing and alienation
finally stranded on the shores together.

But now I’m stranded there alone like a siren
calling out silently because I don’t want
anyone else to hear my songs, and so I collect
the sea trash at night and check the moon
puddles for your face, and I wait for you
while I whittle my bones into a shape that can hold you.

Metamorphosis of a Wizard Alien

I am an alien in this time line
on this earth in this human skin.
What is a human anymore?
I don’t even have to put my phone on silent.
Nobody is calling.
But I’m not calling anyone anymore either.
Disconnected from this time, this space, and this people.
Nothing is sacred anymore, and everything is fodder
for a few moments of instant gratification.
I’m not touching anything that feels like
skin of a person again.
I am not wizard alien enough yet to just go through skin
after skin and feel like a whole person.
Who gave me this heart that I don’t fucking need anymore?
It is scar tissue now, and barely beating a normal human drum.
But I don’t care anymore.
So take my heart as a sacrifice (scarred ball of knots that it is)
since I’m a person born at the wrong time in the wrong place
loving the wrong people
let me become a wizard alien who has no fucking heart,
and then maybe I can pretend to drive this body shell
with some kind of happiness and mingle with the other
body shells
so that I can sleep at 3 am and not cry myself
awake every day having to drink vodka with the
ghosts who are getting drunk off my tears.

The Straw Man Diaries Part I

The moon lied to you
the crow said
He’s shallow, look at how easily he floats.

We fished him, crow and I, from the creek
out back.

No he’s not
I said
he’s just full of holes.
He wasn’t always this way.
Watch how I can stuff him
full again.

I took golden straw, dandelion heads,
and bits of my tears
and packed this deep into his
heart hole.

I stuck him under the willow tree
for three moons
so the creatures and fae could bless
him and eat the rotten parts off.

The Path to E minor for an emPath

Put me in the rocks
I will build me a home.
Rocks as a child.
Rocks as a woman.
Hide my face.
Hide my soul.
All those buckets of soul
sludge that
the others dump onto me
I throw into the shale and lime
stones mixed with my blood and threads of soul
and tell the creek to wash
it all away from me
before I am not me anymore….

Dodging the Land Mines

I’ve burned sigils into the astral planes
with my obsidian heart
hoping to find that other flame
that dances with mine.

If I Were to Write you a Sufi Poem

it would say this:

Notice the hawks
in the sky. You were not meant

to crawl in the
daylight. Dance with

willow trees at night, and drink
the tears from the morning grass spirits.

Then you will be ready


I. It hurts

Take me over there
before I bleed everything out:
my violence, my hates, my loves, my light

II. Cosmic interlude

You are not your blood
your bones, your feathers, your eyes
says the vulture to the dead robin in the road

III. You are here

My hand can not draw the face that I want
I forgot what you look like
My old hand draws a sun and a tree

IV. The riddle

Beneath the ground there is always a sound
Somebody is always eating; somebody is always breathing
Who is it?

VI. Silence by the tree

I will empty myself out over there
Don’t deny me the pain of surrender
Bury these things with the worms and the stones

[ Was originally published online in Pankhearst’s Fresh ]