her face in the mirror
all mine not mine and
there is rust washing
to be done on old chains
in the barren playlot
she the me locking unlocking
six-paneled doors wood
of ghetto apartments
a gulag of memories jailed
rape is not right
not a right
but we, me and she
promise the no cry no more
come knocking,
come knocking
down the corridor
and i hold she as me
in our striped stained bed
crying hush to those
howling dogs of war
some times we chat all
others, silent stand tall
let gossip the pines
in trade on winds
bring on day
carry our night
bones given rain
featherfall out of sight
we gaze for winter
waiting spears...
every at thin
scrim width pale
carving night
into shadow
and moonlight
each wingbeat
of heart
rattlebone clacks
stone rumble taps
fingers at posts
point candled
for windowed
callers
exwearsted longday
at twinight tween
fingerpast pointning of
torrestorm electricness
glowning thrumbled
ribbeling over
direly roar
under her folds
her hands
her rain
under her under
returns her rains
again
she follows rain
books upon books
entry upon entry
fusty future histories
after her storm
rain rain her rain
underwear sitting
naked skin taut and all
head weary in shivers
i don’t want the long time
i don’t want the rub
sitting in wait
for her ever
i give myself to mud
everywhere i turn
i see raven watching
roadsides, treetop
even at the store
overlooking children
of the first nations
’listen,’ they say
’look,’ they add
’there is a story
here needing telling’
the taiga tempts
blackened feathers fall
as they slip away
here, the heroes
stand guard the pale
while at fives
while at nines
and under the sevens
unmoved by illusion
waiting in stillness
for those
who might find
their way home
Disclosure: My use of those tools most often associated with divination are largely as randomized writing prompts, often with the intent of personal alchemy. They are not intended to be representative of traditional divinatory practice. My personal interpretations (and methods) will likely not agree with those found in popular culture.