The things I’m not supposed to talk about
Like how I covet collecting blood and bones
Like how my gaze is transfixed
By the slow descent of crimson matter
Dripping down glass
Blood that takes no injury to procure
Blood that causes life, not death, in losing
Blood that returns, over and over
To remind me I am real
.
I am not supposed to share about
Collections
And paintings
Watching the red transform
Upon surfaces
Well beyond toilet water
And mass-produced cotton shame inducing
Hiding devices
I’m not supposed to talk about it
But the blood
Is all that makes me re-member
So I love it
.
The things I’m not supposed to talk about
Like how I’ve been waiting
Months, weeks, many moons
Watching the torrential waters
Wash over its sacred, but ignored, body
Wondering if one day it might vanish
That stinky, striped carcass
A life once vibrant, now rotting
But upon each circling
I’ve found her
Slowly dissolving away
Staying
In my Dream
.
Her thick, black quills
Floating to the creek below
Batch by batch
And recently
The innards of tail
The sharp ridge of scapula
Washed clean from storm
Appeared
I’m not supposed to talk about it
How I’ve been waiting to be chosen by bones
How excited I am to see them
Wondering if they’ve been holding
As if cleansing
For my capture
.
I’m not supposed to feel
Such excitement as I crouch down, finally
Lay my gloved hand on its beauty
Whisper grateful blessings
And transfer this evidence of life and death
And the micro-macro cycle of everything
Into my blessed receptacle
.
A neighbor, leashed wildness by his side
Stops, childlike, to ask what I’ve found
A skunk, I say
Looking up to him
Staring from face laden
With invisible echoes
Of recent blood ceremony
It’s been here a long time, I say
Hoping for a moment he’ll join me
But his gaze immediately shifts
And there is no response
And still
Like many things I’m not supposed to Do
Like many things I’m not supposed to Say
Like many things I’m not supposed to Feel
I allow myself to honor
These strange desires
These drops of vital plasma
These candle-lit applications
These dirty sacred road blessings
These bones
This blood
I allow myself to honor
And let the human, thinking
Walk on
Letting Go 