Animus et Anima

“I balance my masculine and feminine sides.”–Louise Hay, Daily Affirmation for Nov. 7, 2014 

Animus et Anima

I can get wasted

but I’m not a sloppy drunk

whirling vortices command

that I expend linear-logic thinking

tenacious tendrils

that can’t be shaken off

Irrespective of that rectal contraction

that last thread of shit

dangles so perniciously

buttocks not the bowl


You’re that spider that lurks inside

the crevice

You’re that particle of food

trapped between my vagina dentata

undigested mealworms

I see past glazed truths

How did I get here?

A rough-surfaced pounce

no smooth sensations to soothe

obsidian eyeballs

You’re too hairy

not hairy enough

Like stubble pressed against the inner thigh

he speaks

sporadic and sulfuric

hot words of hurt




See these souls

These souls

These selves

Like melting slush

The hush that melts

In time schemes


The noise

The welts

The weltanschauungs




I see a reflection

plexiglass paralysis

O survivor of the battle royale

whither wend your wrinkles?

Gravitas kiss

a tribute to insomnia

in the bruise-colored


undiciphered runes

forever under the eyes

Swaying and sinewy

nocturnal neck-turns

the spectral tendrils

unanchored from Ran’s realm

moor themselves in the mirror


hands across mouth, gripping poles

bullet holes in

encumbered souls

This is me, this is not me


With the slightest toss of my hair

galaxies unfurl

the jewel in the heart of the lotus

swirling vortices unleash

that consciousness spiral move

kundalini groove

as I kick and spit and tear

at what’s there

from platforms in mid-air

I double back upon myself

violent jerking

suspended from meathooks

a cringing abomination

veering towards vacuity

with whooping cries

I poise the hammer to shatter the shards

the blow is executed

I toss back my head and drink it all in

(I’m not a sloppy drunk either)

snorting laughter goes unnoticed by the

audience in my womb

I carry them within me

We’ll squat in the fields and

the souls richly yield

seeds of spirits to be born when time’s shorn

of power

They’re the size of pinballs, I sigh

You’re not listening


Don’t cry

though there are no moorings left

just mornings forlorn

when time’s shorn

of power, you say


Let me glide my scrotum

across your knee


Let my nipples trace ovals

upon your back


Where there’s fusion there’s no lack


Slippery disentanglements

extract air from the water

Pairs of lungs will be exchanged

as I draw my breath in

and you exhale

Pelvic thrusts bust through

from the false to the true

bifurcated and cleaved

ever old, ever new


The forceful hands press my sternum

against the cauldron

and dunk my head below the deep


I can’t breathe anymore

and all hope of vision is lost to me

Screams will fade as before

when all pleasures blend with misery


See me choke

These souls

These selves

Twin flashing signs

From neon hells

When what ails


To close and swells

Naught is left but bones and cells

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