Only the prettiest flower
may cut itself out, let fall
its head, that hydra.
Only the prettiest flower
may let down its hair,
that fireball of petals,
to paint on the earth
a memory of water
or a thought of dark clay.
The children of Jocaste
buried their feet
in the plastic soil of
of a world that was
already too busy
turning dying myths into
the prettiest flowers.
I
Problematic Moment
This is a no-fly zone:
I descend, take my wings off
I place them in my backpack
And I behold the fork on the road.
Both roads are what happens
Once everything has ended.
The question is where to go from there.
Moral assessments are made.
Social consequences will follow.
One road says Silence
And the other one doesn’t.
I scratch my beard
And all of its hairs fall off to the ground.
My African hairs pierce the ground like high-tech snakes.
They go into the soil of things
And a truth tree without leaves is born.
A truth tree only with branches,
Many branches.
I’m alone on this encrucijada.
My shadow has a shadow of its own in my heart.
My shadow came first in my evolutionary calvary.
My shadow doesn’t argue, she pulls.
I’m thinking.
The elephant in the room
Grows fat and impatient.
The elephant in the room
Steps on my body
And I am flattened.
I am now a bumper sticker:
Your choices behind the wheel matter
I keep saying.
II
Deliberating Moment
I sit down on the universal toilet
Waiting to unflatten myself.
I close my windows against voyeurs.
I peel off my banana and I begin to sweat.
The idea behind choice is to see
How each road leads where
And then to look around to see
If your heart is somewhere there.
Representatives from each path
And from subpaths within paths
Come to me with pens, special brownies
And papers to sign
They want me to put my name
On places and moments
That are neither here nor now
And I take their brownies
And I make paper planes
With their futuristic contracts
And then I ghost them...
...Unable to know...what to say...
III
Inconclusive Moment
There’s an octopus on my face.
How it got here
The same can be asked of my face
And of this damn fork on the road.
Well, I’m blind and still somewhat flat
But I have a knife in my boot
Sharp enough for foreign tentacles
So I try to cut off its limbs
And each time I cut off its tentacles
Its testicles grow right out again.
Well, I have a lighter, so I try to burn
The octopus inside his brain
But the octopus is covering my eyes
So I fail again and again
Until I give up and I pull out a bowl
And I have a few puffs
And the octopus says hey man
Can I have some?
And I say can you get off my eyes?
And the octopus says of course man
You just had to ask.
The octopus is wise.
He’s seen much.
We finish smoking.
Now though there’s no oxytocin
Though my dopamine is limited
And my glucocorticoids are restless
I’m still on the road
With better vision
Fully unflattened
And ready to choose.
I don’t want to choose.
But I must:
My heart on the other side
Is waiting with the Self it wants
And I can’t use my wings.
Hello dearest lunar subscribers!
Only 13 days until the next full moon! Who’s feeling it? That waning crescent certainly has our hackles up – just last week, our new receptionist Susan bit the mailman! He’s having a speedy recovery in the hospital as he considers pressing charges. In the meantime, Susan is on leave. Best of luck, Susan!
It’s been a tough month for us. We lost Dolly after an Animal Control altercation. In addition, Peter is still missing after disappearing into the Blue Ridge Forest. If anyone has seen him or heard from him, please contact our director, or his wife at helenhuntsvampires@gmail.com.
On a more positive note, I’d like to welcome new member, Bryan! Bryan is a 33-year-old marketing director living in the Bay Area. He’s extraordinarily excited by this transition and eager to join a pack ASAP. He’s an avid reader and enjoys taking late night hikes…although he’s probably quit that vocation after what happened last time! All jokes aside – Bryan, we’re happy to have you.
Thank you to all who have submitted to this week’s forum. As requested, I’ve gathered your concerns in a list below.
The Moon (33)
Dealing with passive-aggressive alpha males (1)
Talking to your partner about being a werewolf – what time is the right time? (6)
Animal Control (24)
Best way to remove blood stains? (11)
Cats, ugh. (28)
Clothes swap Monday, 4/19 *no torn, ripped, or bloody clothing please* (2)
My pee smells weird – is that normal? (16)
Coming out to my human friends (9)
Single female, mid-20s; looking for lone wolf to spend full moon with (4)
Recommendations: Heavy duty nail file (4)
Work-life-moon balance (8)
Any packs looking for new members? (3)
Females: when your moon cycle coincides with the lunar cycle (14)
Ride-share to Sunday’s community howl (7)
Happy transitioning, friends. AwooooooooOOOOOOOOO!
Sincerely,
The Lunar Friends Foundation
I linger like a foreign lipstick stain on the starched collar
of a businessman’s suit that his wife cannot bleach out –
or a stranger’s perfume, clinging with
rare persistence to your own bedsheets.
They call me Our Lady of Perpetual Inadequacy –
forever the Other Woman.
Your husband brings me home to you, and you taste me
on his lips with every forced goodnight kiss.
I am the wilted flowers in a late birthday bouquet,
and wrinkled notes,
tucked into sock drawers and back pockets.
I am the manicure that never chips.
I am suspicious phone bills and late-night texts,
receipts for things you’ve never seen.
I am the wrong name panted in the dark,
and the curdling nausea of doubt after you fuck.
I am a misplaced wedding ring, dulled by the shame
of out-of-town business meetings conducted
in pay-by-the-hour motels.
I am the curls that never unravel
and I am only lonely
until you are.
& I suppose it better to gulp
uncertainty cradle nervousness
than to drown in indifference
I mean what is safe is it
any more than crags
comforting soles
before the taken leap
or corroding crass
once curdled in ignorance, now
no longer rancid? The choice frothing catalytic
an emulsion of ennui at the cliff bottom.
the thesis of swimming: taming limbs into choosing action
the subliminal unchaining
caressing we into a rippled wave
cupped into singular chain
events, swim into themselves
meet above surface, remove tension
from choices pooling between us
become a matter of difference
subtract vacant states
blend phases until they bind us
into one fluid substance.
Our vessels, a wet parchment paralleled as solidified breath
Our map, found drifting in undulation