Parts of her journey are terrestrial.
this circular route is the dance of the blessed spirits.
their bladed bodies revolve around each other
and their arms intertwine. those long low strides
render their journey almost exquisite.
this circular route from here to there
is not the most economical; they wear
simple skirts. the circular route from here to there, to you.
the sun rose and revolved around the storm.
This body was a joke.
The parents, dumb-faced and stupified by
what they fucked into existence.
Fantasy is holy. holy is holy.
but the body is not holy.
The body is out of control even beyond
the ballerina who is an adept of
I possessed my body like a witch-
I made sacrifices. I let my blood
and the blood of others.
My journey to become a body (only)
was terrestrial. the foot on the earth beget
god, and since I controlled that foot,
I was god.
Dark blue smudge was hell, the hell was me, struck
with red black blood to the earth.
My lion face was caked in the lion’s share of blood