Mid-Twenties Poetry & Prose Author. Animist-Polytheist Libertine. She/They.

Abiding Limbo

In Limbo (abiding Limbo) I hold fast to my pillow,
Like a child to mother, taking in all inanimate
Comforts my starved heart & soul go on imagining.

The weight of all that's unread, left sealed
Mocks the possibility that my life may continue;

To have Held High to crumble to Hold High again
Will synchronize Terror & Disbelief (—acrobat muses
To the subject of all these dealings,)

When the crumbling-sensation grows again.
Fated to wait & see what 'fate' could ever be.

How I feel that I know that there's all gone
The Love of this world—
Died with my heart some years passed.

But fate, a lofty myth maybe, we know well
Finds its fuel in showing certainty more false.

Words For The World

Let nothing ever need to be spelled out again.
Let the voice of a sudden wind say all that is
lost in the various assurances and contradictions
of all the histories of all the books, papers and
archives that weave a ring of words around this
world. Let everything take its breath, so it can
untangle itself, maybe— the piece-by-piece of
everything— and piece-by-piece go back into
its place to then change all places altogether.
Fixations nevermore!

Two Poems

From The Next Volume Of Rendered

The Abolition Of Rectangles

Few are privy to that Mossy Stone
Anchored against a corner in mind.
Gracing the flesh one’s bound to find—
Strikes faintly ‘fore its light shone.
O merciless moments of calling . . .
Did I ever mistake in some verse
Your luminous noun for curse?
Heart lingers on in its falling.

Tumbling through form, the caste,
The crude measure whereby all things go,
A vast journey alone—asunder shows

What doing now with all there really is
Affects in the solid prism of subtle bliss,
Combing the Mossy Slab at last.


I agree with the cavern speaking to me
Whose echo through my nerves may be
The Charge from Earth Herself,
Recounting the steps in myself.
I’ve doted with fever through the space
Of where my life lands & takes its place
All for the sky’s expanse above
Making lower corners gusts of grace.

So hushed below, we admire upwards
In dual streaks of glee & sorrow;
Intent lies in a truer morrow,
No less with tears than with a word.

Lie with me in where the charge
Of the world retracts to enlarge.

Poem No. 27 From "Rendered, Volume One"

From Page 36

I know of a mark. The very first
Encryption. That original cipher
Is a streak in the charred Life-Tree.
I tried, harder than with anything,
( I tried, harder than with Joy,
Than with Composure,
Than with Love,
Than with Myself)
To repair that stamp’s Merciful Countenance.
Parsed anew, prefacing with critique
On method, conveyance—the content
Berates interpretation, impairs retelling.

From that I sense the phrase said best
To oneself, absorbing gently from troves
That lurk in sunlit leaves, in place of those
Stuffy tomes of Hubris, Conjecture.

Uttered in confidence—violence of grief,
Murderous intent upon Uncertainty—
They ease into the consoling counsel of
Life’s Breath, Noble Frenzy. That steady,
Disinclined exhale.