songanddancegirl

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

__

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

__

Winter 2025  ..after nirvana..

a somewhat violent poem about art & the blues

some girls prance around the AGO like

the risen Georgia   some girls slink like

the splayed goatvagina  Picasso sculpted

my own preference is to cavort  like

Martha Graham💃🏻(spoken in your best

mid-atlantic accent)

today a man approached +asked: do you

dance?  i kicked him hard  in his Rodin

sized penis  visible thru blue tights

all the while a pallid Joni Mitchell wannabe

warbled  blighting Canada  Joni’s birthplace

kicking leg all a-twitch  poet yearns  for  the bubble

watching hoops  7 hours a day  her blue period

as millions died of the spiked one🔆 the one no one

will speak of anymore   except some sick chickens

__

Winter 2025  ..the blight light returns..🐔🐔

the truth is out there

i have likely been reading too much wisdom literature

and it is seriously messing with my approach to Nirvana

which is clearly not simply  a blissful ludded-out state

where chubbycherubs  with tiny penises  massage your ego

into submission   Nirvana it turns out  is  knowing your true

nature  +transforming  into yourself   over a lifetime

though you have been told who you are  or should be  by every

tom dick +hairy bastard you meet   the world will ask you  who

you are  +if you don’t know  the world will tell you  (C.G. Jung)

Nirvana is also  coming to know the world as it  really  is   ie., not

the delusional:  happiness certainty +immortality (but only if you’re good)

version of life  modern humans are taught to expect   on demand

why not shift the focus then  to some of our modern day  sages+holy fools

you can’t always get what you want   everything is broken   i dont believe

in Beatles  and let us not forget   if you miss it  you miss it!

the truth might be out there  but something has been eating away at me

since my big bros cancer odyssey  a sharp pain in me side  appendix +knifelike

it’s probably  the truth  which has clearly  NOT  set me free

freedom shmeedom  what sets you free  is  rising  above the  truths  which

really are not truths at all  in the happilyeverafter shit show we find ourselves

in    fer chrissakes!   freedom should taste of  reality 

just ask  a slave

a camp survivor

your dying 98yr old mother

on her liberation day  the bravest

day in all her life    (i told you dummies i was gonna die!)

__

Winter 2025  ..welcome to the new+improved nirvana..

i am a poor wayfaring ape-sie

not a prisoner of  i can’t won’t could should would   didn’t 

DID   more a sailor jerry girl  striped maillot  muscles  curves

fabulous glasses  skulltatts

a punkbeckythatcher☠️  take me to the river  time to leave the

old yellow house of dreams: largesse (never before has a girl

wanted/had  morrrre!)  happiness  grief  cancer  death    TREES    BEAUTY

i will light out for the territories!

post-pandemic lack of civility  a meanness in this world  hipsters

in OVO🦉 leave piles of purebredshit  EVERYWHERE   a brother

escaped to a higher plane  where the elderly levitate

and the lobby showcases the embalmed  Audrey/Holly/Freda  i will go there

i have been promised a pet hawk  a cure for cancer  where the ghosts of

my parents  who lived on the 10th   rattle+hum rattle+hum

and place brother’s

slippers

in odd configurations

A   p   r   i   l  l  l  l  l  l  l  l  l  l  l  l  l  l  l  l  l

a bit like Emily Brönte’s pitiful

H  e  a  t  h  c  l  i  f  f  f  f  f  f  f  f  f  f  f  f  f

i will be

moorish   +free

__

Winter 2025   ..leave me be..i’m busy packing..

my last raptor 🦅

harbinger of what?  winks at me  from across the street

i see his underbelly  as i stretch on the floor beside windows

greywhite  migraine skies   everyday

hawk oblivious  glide swooooops  lands on the railing   door ajar

talons twitch  i’d love a piece of this bitch   poet in a downward

dog   spiral

new year beckons  rhinestone cowgirl boots  glint   hawk lifts

me up   by elvishair   i always thought   i’d like it up there  and

i do    hawktalons   tighten on poet’s wrist      byebye

__

Winter 2024  ..poetbird rising..🧚‍♀️

mothership

who remembers the first nosefull of earth in Spring?

musty  moist  feral  fecal?  as a child  also feral/fecal

on the edge of our ravine

ready to plunge into forestnettles  with neighbourhood

hellhounds on my tail  one murdered his mother  103

slashwounds     Jerry can you hear me?

my own mothership  now a blinking  MOM 💥 on a keychain

a lasting essence  also of early Spring  her April 4th arrival

conjured  annual birthday blizzards

and a wicked nor’easter for her burial  we shivered+froze  as

mother blew snow into our faces  i told you i was going to die!

now the   indignant ice-queen

(a brother at the crypt)

mother a conundrum of

gentle/fierce

innocent/streetsmart

especially re:

pickpockets+perverts

__

Winter 2024  ..RIP Frids..🖤💔

it’s not all jagged scars + stretchers

when i told him to shut his eyes in the bowels of

the hospital  at 2 am   my eyes remained quite open

i was still  seeing  witnessing  recording   bleeding out

for the record  i do not have brain cancer  i merely brushed

up against it  violently +PTSD   who cared for me?  the cherry

trees in the park    even in the dark

as i staggered home  a carcass  all animal inside  now eight months

on the  otherside   the numbing has begun  dissociation  that human

coping mechanism  the one that allows us to push through bardo states

where  we do not know  if we are dead  or alive  this way to survive   🔜

holocausts  vivisection  cancer  divorce  beartraps   as old Carl Jung has

reminded me:  the human ego can withstand  excruciation  crucifixion   and more

of course there is a tipping point Carl   into the river of  NO RETURN

but i am still paddling   and i’ve decided to embrace the grey  this winter

and make it into something beautiful   like Frida with a gangrenous leg

like the scars on my

motherfatherhusbandsisterbrother

intricate etchings  on bloodied snowangels

so  don’t cast the first stone  don’t judge my suffering  i will never be

the same  near hopeless creature again  and that’s progress  motherfuckers

anyone out there brave enough to join me  in the holy abyss of hope?

WOW   that really cleared the room!

__

..Nick Cave decided to be  happy  as a form of revenge  after his

15 yr. old son fell to his death on his 1st acid trip..

Winter 2024  ..bodhisatvva of pain  rises up..🦅🦅

..if you are looking  there are signs everywhere..

ask alice

foot stuck  in rabbit hole  rabbits cower

forest used to be magical  where did the

magic go?

lost in synapses of MRI machines  rabbit

holes magnetic    aliceaprill   held inside

while technicianrobot  with dead eyes

searches for her soul   AWOL  these long

years  of living the dream  old house deshabille

is getting to thee   no?

strange mustyholes  black rot in floorboards

moistghosts flatten themselves  +enter   they

number in the hundreds  maybe thousands

they pity you

tethered still to matter

what’s the matter?

__

Winter 2024  ..to look these things squarely in the face..

would need the courage of a lion tamer.. Virginia Woolf

non attachment blues

the psychologist  at my local cancer hospital  all giant

black frames  gravitas  +Morticia Addams  talked to me

about  anticipatory grief     it’s a thing

the only person for whom it was a foreign concept  was

a geriatric psychiatrist  at a retirement rez i frequented

she was in serious denial

many of her patients would be dead  within 8-10 days

give or take   when i told her about my pre-grief  for my

98 yr. old mother  fading  fabulous  +acerbic to the max

the doc said: don’t kill her off so fast  i guess she failed

compassion  at shrink school   5 months later  mother

walked through the valley  of the shadow of death

perhaps it was the doc’s revenge  for mother telling her

you don’t take a good picture!  to which she replied   i

don’t get paid for my looks

clearly

i hear

mother

chide

so how are you supposed to  know  what death feels like?

a dying friend asked   well  by every deathbed you’ve ever

sat at   by every witnessing  of medical science in action

torturing/healing

torturing/healing

you’re people

in the end  so reluctant to let them go   you have to beg

borrow  +steal  the hemlock  but really  it’s pretty simple

befriend  the dualities

hold terror in one hand  +hope in the other   and learn

to juggle with aplomb  without shitting oneself   without

scaring the shit out of  the dying one

whose red shoes

have recently

been  spotted on

the feet of angels

__

We heal and test our heart’s resilience by lingering within

the unbearable. We find our hearts much stronger than

we presumed, and what we thought unbearable to be

nothing of the sort..  (Nick Cave  The Red Hand File  2024)

Winter 2024  ..one day i heard persistent childcries ..croak+nervepierce..