the box
we live as we dream, alone
we dream about what we are shown
we see what we’re taught to expect
expect what we think we should get
& while some get what they think they deserve
that’s often less Fate & more nerve
a few get so much more than they need
they think it means they get to lead
give everyone reasons to follow
mere excuses, inspected, and hollow
designed with more take and less give
to keep us apart while we live
The Gift
a fragment
by a female Faust
The world is beautiful again.
It was given to me yesterday as a gift
It was actually given a long time ago
the first time
& several times after that
but only yesterday did I get it
did I finally understand.
The world is beautiful, again,
like it was when I was very young & it was new
like it was when I was still young & it renewed
like it was before I learned
before I set out to teach it
how it should've been when I was older.
I learned things because I thought I was supposed to
the things I thought I had to learn to grow stronger
I needed to prove that they didn't kill me
These things that did not make me stronger,
I don't think they ever will, but if they do not make me stronger,
I'm afraid they might make me dead.
Beauty makes me stronger
the impossible beautiful coalescence of
this now
this small room
filled with records & ciphers & pictures & drawings
all of them imbued with specific familiar particulars
with spirits, for me,
& not just for me,
ghosts of a coming of age
of paths traveled & not traveled:
records, relics, recipes, replicas,
& maps & magazines & magick,
& people, the people, my people,
less than kin but all most kind
crowded in & listening close, intently
to a dense rich music delicate & profound
as motes dance in the warm yellow light
in honor of this beautiful World.
