Sour Diesel

With Reverence

because i stand at the mouth of this river tonight holding the red stones and still feel the land of the dirty glass of nescafe on my skin- place of galvanized roofs and car interiors that tried to destroy me. i’ve been that dirty mama laughing faith to the ground. to the rubbish heap, tomorrow never came and the sun gave up on us there. tired, weary it moved camp. small plastic bottles of vodka found in the boarder towns. I put hell in my mouth.

Origin of the Renegade Women

welcome to the dumb day. these trees across this border town have all been raped. i lay on the cement face to the ground listening to a dry leaf scrape against a dry leaf.  place where dogs get stuck together. no one is telling the children to look away- they say i’m cold for saying this. i say it’s dirt. that  boy on the porch, don’t ask what he collects. the people i lived with tried to shoot me, said i surprised them. they didn’t know i could dream. said it was too human. i told them even monsters dream.

accessible dimensions through your smoke trail

“Shamaic initiation often takes the form of sickness- the cure is the discovery of vocation” - Daniel Pinchbeck


Mezcal, the crying mask
one with the great antlers
we move the stones

i write your song on my own skin  
manuscript of Sun
low badger
we danced it outside


will not surrender

overtones, implications to be taken
to let go

(did not return)

they are afraid
so refrain from drinking the booze
terrified of the shadows

Mountain Holder you alone are my husband

Red Alchemy

here is the red medicine you made
                                            gifted me

see how this puzzle box makes it appear opaque?
just an illusion- yet another of so many

it burns the skin of some, perhaps a secret kind of test
a tell tale sign of- something we shall learn of later
i don’t dare let anyone hold the bottle
when they peer into my apothecary
they want to keep it
asking how it was conjured
i tell them no, they cannot have it
and that it will hurt them most definitely

i am stoned by mid day you know
i see no reason to have clarity at such an obscene hour
by 2300  i have come around
make the good medicine
fill orders- i do it by dream, navigate by these red woods
these willows-Artemisia vulgaris rising
and sing or shove the white lace in my mouth to stifle the screams
i weep in secret- still too proud

Lola and Her Husband at age 12, Out at Dungeness

Where I woke up for my 12 birthday. Horseflies, blackflies
Pot of sea animals and booze that made chowder. - I conjured up sea water and bull whip tea

Sand between our teethe. Fever showing me

Spotted dancers
Bears under the pine
Shake of the gray blanket

Collecting shotgun shells. Where my uncle came back to camp with a beautiful woman she sat quiet, hair over one side of her face. That night she dropped to the ground became a salmon, swam back into the waters

i love you too  “sssssss…..”