songanddancegirl

a way above my head i see the strangest sight

hole in heart  pierced through  to the quick  underneath all

is the gut  fucking  punch  of brain cancer  this cancer odyssey

rips you apart  +pieces you back together  as if  you are still yourself

but you are  NOT  +never will be  ever   yet underneath the blood

yoke staples radiation burns  a new poet emerges  part forestsprite

part crone  stoic ju bu   (thinking caps on.. you can decipher this!)

you rise  un-humpty   2000+yrs ago Aurelius said: i am an old man now  

it’s time to stop being a slave  to no longer be pulled along like a puppet

on strings  to stop being dissatisfied with today  and afraid of tomorrow 

oh she is tired  a watery sun warms her old poetparts   a bitter wind licks

her  in the slits  where her coat doesn’t give cover  she listens to the leafless wind

no birds   a quiet freeze   you cannot extinguish me     motherfuckers

girl woman crone cadaver skeleton bones twigs nests bugs frogs stray cats in the

family garage  saddles  a brother’s real  birth certificate  a rusted out used car

how did her old parents ever clean out that house?  both spent+breathless  +free

recent missive from the heavens where parents float..

where a Chagall fiddler fiddles  ..over old wine+old bones 

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Winter 2025 ..free llirpa snikta..🕊

one more once

🖤 Lee Atkins  1921-1989  RIP 🖤

daddybird put me on a horse at 3   grab the mane!

said he   there was no saddle   he walked close by

in cowboy boots   Jewish John Wayne

The Rifleman  my favourite tv show back then  Mark

the Rifleman’s son  my 1st love interest  cowboy father

knew   +took me to see him  at the rodeo

never been so excited  since   father’s big manbody beside me

fragrant+paco rabbane   Mark on his horse  the bull’s butts smeared

with feces    DAD WHAT IS THAT??     (almost the best part)

hey daddybird come back!  +walk with me through the

shit abyss of my   late 60’s   morass   childhood a cakewalk

compared to this        or was it?

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Winter 2025  ..poet soon Lee’s age..when he died..dig it?

a desperate poem?

throwing away dustcolonies  paperclips  your treasured

psychiatrist’s obit  from 20 yrs ago  dr. sugarplum fairy

died in her sleep

snatched by the Reap  as we worked on child-client’s deeps

burnings starvation young molestation  in addition to fantasy

scenarios re: my other mother’s soon (?) sleep

a hypo?

eye of newt?

her suffering this life

often prolonged

intense  +unbeautiful

what will it feel like when your dustmites are all dead?  they who

are piled in every crevasse  in moist piles under your bed  throwing

away your old identity  your once vibrant debauchery  chérie

and yet  this is NOT a desperate poem  desperate is refusing to let go

clutching your mites mightily   they don’t even love you  they just quietly

go about the business of  succubus+asthma

HARK !  in the midst of the shit abyss  a creeping feeling of lightness

of lift off   as the door to the final 3rd creaks open  you walk  barefoot

+mitred 👑  now Queen of Mites  Queen of Battleaxes   near and far

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Winter 2025  ..and freedom..oh freedom..

my final quarters will be: 84 x 28 x 23 or thereabouts

..fate guides the willing but drags the unwilling..(Cleanthes 300 BC)

..if you resist becoming conscious fate will take you kicking  and

screaming    EVERYWHERE   (C.G. Jung 1957 CE)

why is downsizing so apocalyptic to the newly aged?  fired from

a cannon into the hardcoldworld  days numbered  mysterious hairs

sprout on a girl’s face

a sweet nephew has already put in dibs on plucking them  shame i

placed my Bubba’s chicken-pluckers into her 98 yr. old daughter’s

casket  forgetting that not only would i never see my mother’s body   again

i would never see said  chicken-pluckers  or her yellow catseye

sunglasses  mother met her Maker  as she lived  a stylinbitch

with  witchy tendencies

yesterday poet went to sign her lease  on  life away  an old

(somewhat)  spiffed up   apartment  on the way  husband #3

assured her:  i am inches from a psychosis

what she really wanted to do was   BOLT   bolt the doors

bolt herself  into the past   in a 5 story townhouse  laden

with detritus  +dustmite deshabille

time to flee!  yet there in the distance  the dirty picaresque

windows  (a sales feature they dangle for 7k a month)  OH THE

VIEW IS TO DIE FOR!     revealed 6 tiny birch trees

fragile

pure

cold

+lost

just like me

downsize this motherfuckers  after a lifetime spent clutching

furniture +your dead father’s blue deckshoes  you come to realize

that you cannot refuse the final  box 

whose feature sheet promises:

darkness

sweet silencio

+numerous

furryfriends

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Winter 2025  ..after nirvana..