Call Me Lover Again

I am trying to say something about loveliness, maybe I already did, I don't know, I can't say.

We are born over and over, how I wish I could show you this, make it clear for you, you would never call me lover again.

Intentional discord in order to make clear another fullness.

"I was never lost, you were always there."

In my dreams the Chthonic One visits, for once I don't wake up screaming, I understand how to welcome Her now I know the inside of the one who welcomes Her.

They told me to get lost and I did but in another sense they were lost and they sent me out to find the way home and I did.

I mean why leave the microbial at all.

So you are a bell, okay, who rings you, who comes when you ring.

You see, the other thing about heavy metal - often missed - is its religiosity, that too is part of what calls to us. 

Paleolithic skulls cut in ways that make clear they were designed to hang facing forward, thanks ancestors!

I wonder if the women I made love to in Ireland remember making love to me in Ireland and I also wonder if remembering the way I remember is also a kind of making love.

Morning passes writing, may I never forget to be grateful.

Haraway's point that we were never individuals but lichens, and the way in which even that does not go far enough.

Let's you and I burn the Book of Leviticus and fuck under the falling ash.

No more flags, no more codes.

War still, why.

Dead uncles reel through the hay loft trying to reach me through the web of language I've been spitting - I mean spinning - since at least 1983.

Oh hold me tighter, won't you.

Ambrosios Pleiathidis was buried alive, stop pretending the tame demon with which you wrestle isn't a servant of the demons who directed the burying.

This twentieth sentence is dedicated to Emily Dickinson, may I never forget either the bees or the light in which they work.