Last quarter moon brings release
of tension. Noise. Noise. Noise.
That maddens the Grinch on Christmas Day.
Time lapse. Lapsing. Lapsed. Freeze. Framed.
My lips are on fire. Exhaustion impending.
The throat chakra of women is burning flame.
Is burnt black and extinguished. I am both.
Dreaming of Gold Past Lives. Or are you stuck
between awake and asleep? That scary figure is
staring at you in the dream, taunting, pulling,
running towards you as you awake, in your bedroom.
Who are you? Scratching to get out. The one you deny?
With the charred voice, rasping.
The transfiguration of Christ was a rearrangement of molecules;
a spiritual explosion beyond the
visible light spectrum.
Compost emerged.
The artist puts more paint on the canvas.