Nite Rote

and sips from my tarot card

that dangerous lucid hour

has hips like curved horns

Some borrow love from god

Some borrow love from the loved

Different kinds of kindness sleep with me

different kinds of sleep sleep with me

can you eat bravery

The inheritance of memory

This is an extra gift

when the dead are not mentioned in good deed

My clothes evaporate in the lint trap

Inside the chrysalis the butterfly is dissolved

It consumes even the mountains.

I study the lines of your body all mornings

like a dreamer trying to memorize their hands before lucid dreaming.

The impression of hands in dreams could be safety,

remembering could be safety.

There are no peoples without a history of rain.

I hope the scattered sky will accept ours.

The sky eats everything.

It consumes even the horizon.

in the mist of this planet

galaxy sunrised with belonging.

Dismantle ourselves from myth,

the crystal of the myth remains

we are become reckless stars.

Some train to perform,

some perform to separate

the ones meant to love and hate.

To disappear like a ghost

is to love a ghost.

—to move the mosaic,

the whole realm whispers

to be consumed by wildfires

is to long to long.

To be consumed

is to have witnesses,

but leave none left alive.

Sinners get forgiven,

but saints fall sideways.

A Madonna,

a bodiless passion,

notched in time.

A name gained, is a name lost.

To leave something behind is to gain something.

Some borrow love from god.

Some borrow love from the loved.

The different kinds of kindness are the same

as the thousand plateaus of sleep.

You can think think of it

as eating bravery:

the inheritance of memory

is an extra gift.

One, who knows

the coexistence of fatigue and elegance.

The art of leaving is a fever.

The soul remembers

according to the habit of a former life,

everywhere I love

wildfires a defense against the wounds

of this impossible light giving

I write on you as I write on the sky

you will adorn me with smoke

this grace a right instead of a gift,

a shadow is never strained

The collar of tomorrow is wise

it names what's hidden in invocation

to remove walls of water

silence stands guard over pieces of sun

it is not a denial of our gods

you are a close sun

seen without looking

hips like curved horns

lips wear too many names

truant, tyrant, hallelujah

a kiss puts on silence

the tongue is a blade of light

that worships forgetting

and only speaks of remembering

the throat is a fortress of intentions

it casts no shadows at noon

for the flowers in our lungs

wild with grief blooming

different kinds of kindness

all bodies humming

with psychedelic boundaries

before the shadows leave

through the tear in space

mood, sighs, smell,

these are named things that hold me to this light

if there are colors in my dreams,

only you see them

You make up the matter of my dreams

everything seen hides something unseen

Vision into the unknown is an elegy

I wish to be bathed in green light

a tired light remains,

I give it the name celadon

If you see from the color

the old name remains

as if I did not name the color

and the light is a promise

any dangerous lucid hour

The wrong sculpture garden,

where a ribbon on the Madonna of the unloved reads

that her cells can not accept the intimacy she wants.

Absence is a silent bell that collapses on the day,

the golden wound louder than ever.

Seven thousand mirrors in the sky beg

to scale the colorful tower in my throat.

Everything touched by a Saharan iron cloud.

It burns with the naked names of the rose,

and beneath it the tunnel of ruby sleeps.

A blue mist surrounds me,

lingers in doorways,

matched to the fertility of regret.

The birth of the sky chooses to plant black dahlias,

in the emerald moss of the earth's spine.

We split the secret in half seven times,

seven for the secret that's never been told.

Then let ourselves closer to abandoned star signs

give them something your creature needed,

give them everything soft,

even something safe to forget.

Be surprised by calmness

when a spider has made a home in your space

and witness it descend onto the hand.

For whoever you were, for you, for me,

let yourself forget something everyday.

February and March have nothing for us

the way most hours

hands banded to hold

touch each leaf as the only leaf

Everyone wants something

from the they who dwell in the otherworld,

but interact with the human world.

We have fought like this.

On the white island

with the temple of snakes,

where consistency lives to this day.

We can never hope

the way we have longed

or the way we have fought.

We have always hoped like this—

before and on days that chanted.

My quest has its own memory.

I have seen the phantom queen dance

in a mist of bodies

rupture and repair connecting

I wish I could have been raised by clouds

and not a burden to this living planet,

for now I am an elaborate bonfire.

Everyone who kisses has taught themselves to be kissed.

Do not in some small way come to me

if you do not believe in me.

To cast this vulnerable spell,

a spell cast from the spots of a jaguar,

I am with the part of the earth that defies the stars

among people who have loved poorly

like fleeting copal smoke,