8 F Y R E ' B I R D 8

we carve mountains out of our spine because that is how the earth taught us.   the earth taught us some things.   the earth taught us about poetry, about being gentle, about being fierce.   the earth teaches us about time.   about when to express and shine   and when to be hidden and withdraw withdrawing one’s energy into oneself   and becoming darkness is sacred   our world does not remember this   our world is only fruiting and harvesting   there is no awareness of “death” in our world   i want to be an awareness for death in this world  

what document were you,   before he entered   what need, were you,   bleeding to her without recognizing   it in yr own eyes   why does the page keep disappearing?   who are you? what are you? why can’t you See yourself?   these are the things i write when i am sorry.   these are the things i write when i am lonely.   when i am sad. when i am heroic. when i bring my   feelings to the page instead of throwing them on someone else.   we use our words to heap feelings on people we use our energy, our capacity for human intention, which really is a seed   of magik, to harm, hurt, lock up, wack, chord, invade, disrupt   other people   this can happen.   this does happen.   (and it can be seen on many levels) ___   A question I recently received from Sandra Kim stays with me: " How can we stop being afraid of how much racism we have interna...

echo memory :: june 19, 2018 :  i am sitting here, in the mountains and i can smell the alfalfa near me. it is not growing. it is tied up, in a bundle. this bundle is for my use. it is for the practice of archery. i have yet to transport it to the forest for this purpose. the smell of it is nice. it lingers. it reminds me of fall, which reminds me of my childhood, which reminds me of my birthday. as i was transporting it, it shed many pieces of itself and they ended up collecting along the edge where the wall meets my deck. i liked this. i hope it liked it. i kept them there. for the lingering scent, but also for the sight, of something beautiful. of a chaotic, kind of beauty that i feel happens the most in the fall, when things are letting go and finding themselves strewn about everywhere, in a surrender to death, to change, to transition, to life.   the rain is trickling, the rhythms of it can be heard against the trees and the rooftop. playing with each other. the...

cooing, soft night air.   i conjure this around me.   i let my bones settle, because often in the city, they are on fire. they are running with electric tires, the nervous systems in me cars. streets and cars, hard metal that comes from somewhere, far away. distant booms, high pitched sounds. i wonder about how we can manipulate our environment with sound, and how there might be sound warfare, and how there is also: sound healing.   because so often in the city my breasts never settle. my bones have a hard time not rotting and becoming the earth, because we must return to the earth, we must return to the earth, we must become Them, we must become Her, be eaten by our chthonic desires, come home to Her, come home to Them, sparkling and dark, moonlit :earth. my bones remember. my bones remember, decay and how to become the earth again.   in winter, i smell death. death is everywhere. i feel like i let parts of my garden (genitals) die out this winte...