Come quickly, love, come staunch my wound with heather.
I am bleeding out my song onto curling mountain laurels.
Lift me to the bane bridge, love, carry me through roses.
I have not visited the valleys of my youth for many moons.
Kiss me, love, my soul is a meadowlark, swiftly fleeting
and I cannot stay, I could never be yours, I must fly away.
You’re an addict, an idiot, shit lord
of piss mountain, I called you trash
but really you’re a garbage disposal
siphoning crap then vomiting shit, I
am sick of you, I trashed you, you
fucking asshole, next time I’ll stab
you harder, next time when we kiss,
I will bite your tongue off, tear
your feathers out and mangle wings
that smell like rot, all your maggots
just prove the filth in you is endless
you never came disguised as an angel
of light, you’ve always been a crimson
fucker, and your piss baby act got old
two decades ago, I don’t need you, your
brother fucks better, he will always win,
and I’ve already triumphed over you, so
come grovel again – I’ll erase you, cunt.
There’s a coat of Montezuma gold on your skin,
dusk paints tiger branch stripes on your face.
It is autumn in my heart, and our carriage rides
on through trees lit like embers, your green blue
eyes the only memory of spring, everything is in
changing tides, I jumped off a quarry cliff into
your deep, and I don’t know if I can swim above
all the wanderers in your heart, they lure me
down into honey memories, so I grab your twilit
fingers and paddle through seasons of loss, tithes,
what kind of blood did you pay for these fineries?
Loam has woven itself into your suit and waistcoat,
my petticoats are cobwebs, our driver is Sir Death,
and unlike Dickinson, there will be no kindly stops –
my road is rocky and this is my choice but also fate,
the boulders in my woodland are rough, these reaches
are wild, as I hold your hand, our carriage passes
the outer boundaries of safety, love is never safe,
I’ve guarded my heart for two dozen years, it has
grown dim because I starved it, I cannot give you
anything more than pretty words, a bouquet of poems.
What I own is a lust for more than this world, like
you – maybe together we can make autumn last forever.
Maybe together my demons and your ghosts will run in
terror, our darkness will be driven out by joy, we
will align like the constellations at midnight, and,
perhaps, your fall will spice my heart with enduring
flames, but for now, the warmth of you will suffice.
I chase the Alfather’s breath in the Northern Lights
my spine is snow, downy elkskin and leather my dressings
the wolves throng round me and wreathe me in ice fractals
wily Odin has become the constellations, god of blizzards
flanked by Geri and Freki in Niflheim’s outer boundaries
splashes of neon gold and ghost green and ectoplasm blue
make up the string of runes in the sky, veil of Frigga –
to be parted by the Wanderer only, and as I gaze into his
hollow eye, I know I stare down Mimir’s well, drowning in
tundra and subzero ordeals, my bones are brittle, I become
nothing but our thirst for knowledge, screaming Ansuz, air,
casting galdr up to the heavens and going berserk for wisdom
the wolves are with me, are me, I am teeth and fangs gnashing
I could slit the wrists of the Milky Way and drink down Ymir
I scream in ecstasy and terror as the rune takes hold, molds
a girl becoming gift of the gods, Odin blinks worlds: Ragnarok.
Mist seeps through my memory and the strangled
tunes of the dead rattle their breaking bones
treasure hoard or funeral pyre, I sit on skulls
drinking wine that was once angel blood, fresh
from wounds claws dug into to prise immortality
my beasts fetched my drink from the fields, the
corpses came of their own accord, I comb golden
curls off the mummified remains of my daughter,
dumb little bird, she could not handle my milky
poison, and so I tend things as barren Baroness
of the cavern behind the waterfall, Morrigan to
men, Slayer of Mine Enemies, Claimer of Spoils –
say my name and I descend like the stormy seas.
I drown in the musk of thunderheads –
sensations clash, slash of a spine,
Gungnir impales me, one stark blue
eye laughs as my body hangman jigs,
its companion a waterfall emptiness
socket of creation and devourings
in his brains I see the stars and on
his lips are a thousand of my deaths
I am no shieldmaiden, just a lost poet
who summons storms and raging Wild Hunt
with nine bargains I will always lose
better to be a chess piece than checkers
at least then your fate isn’t textbook.
The ocean is endless, I want to lick foam
off the top of waves and bury sand dunes
into saw grass to make my hair wet green
stalks, swim to outer boundaries to oyster
marvel pearls and neck with seals and fish,
to wrestle Triton and bring back fresh water
for mankind too quick to pollute the wildlands –
can’t they see the deep is our original womb?