october kissed by the spider woman
“don’t let the devil devour us, my love; don’t let him swallow your warmth; don’t let him burp my ache,”
-Saul Hernandez
i’ve been reading about
the lamentation of the andes…
about
the calligraphy of quetzalcoatl’s return.
i’ve been writing about
cycles that need to
learn when the circumference
ought to be
indeed, circumcised;
when the kachinas
must decorate their neutralized ears;
when the mountains need to forget
about growing more muscle
-them great bodybuilders.
but, my love, it’s simple
what is happening
between you and i.
it’s simple, my love,
the complexity of our cries,
the months and days
jumping ropes;
the weeks avoiding
hopscotch
and
the days prostituting
mantic lies.
i see, my love,
the weight of this circle.
i see, my love,
its pearls,
its tantric mufflers
in the mud
where the eye of the hurricane
paints
ferocious brothels;
where my heart forgets
about bevel gears.
i see, my love,
the day
when we finally say goodbye;
when the foreskin of our
love rains on the orchards;
when the tangos in the cells
burp their mitosis
and the narrated film-plots
swallow their cinematography;
when the fear of our emotions
takes a trip to the nearest sauna
and finally evaporates,
and finally decides to sigh.
i see, my love,
another shade of red in the sunset
-an odorous one;
-a hue so explicit
-it transforms canadian mounts;
-it returns pyramids to neptune and mars.
let me show it to you.
let me add it to your
warm color palette.
and so, then, grab me with the bristles
of your backstage soul.
