Master Key

 

Master Key

Or, Why You Should Say Yes

(A poem by a Faust)

“A prison becomes a home when you have the key.”

- George Sterling

Sometimes the still possible’s yet rumored unlikely

but considering sources means going back over the scene

of some still secret crime against pleasure —  conspiracy

of the sort one finds looking into what painful has been

May my words fly & be free, such that you, so that we

 all can & do take, get to take, this most wonderful chance —

So that, since you know what I know, & see what I see,

we all get to go trip & frolic, sing, play, & dance

Some things are just too real 

Some times are just so sweet

Some things you have to feel

Some people you should meet

All this to say: please if you would — well consider, unboxed

Because that which sustains us looks askance at all locks.

To Those Once My Classmates

I fell unfortunately too ill to attend my reunion...

the box

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 (The World Is Beautiful Again)

Inspired by Katabatik's Ceremonial Abyss, experienced live at Cone Shape Top, Oakland, 2/25/23.

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.