Sometimes i feel like I’m floating, hovering about. Sometimes i feel like I’m sailing in the ether as my feet start to lift off the ground. Sometimes inbetween the atrophy i dip jerk and grunt. Sometimes there is space in between my gown and the soil as i defy gravity. Sometimes it takes a nightmare to wake up from a dream. My melancholic moods like my martyrdom always conflictingb me. My selfishness and my selflessness are always at war. A martyr i have been. I offered him everything and got the axe again. So now i float toes pointed down, always headed west. The wicked witch of West Seneca they whisper, behind my very back. for they call me a witch you see, so i levitate when i masturbate and talk in tounges with glee. I dance naked in the woods around a bonfire with the matriarchy. I grow nightshade basked in moonlight and fill mason jars with pee . i shape shift like a skin walker and drink the fountain of youth in my tea. I feel everything so deeply it tends to overpower me. I read tarot cards, bones, runes and tea leaves. I bathe in virgin’s blood as i sip martinis . I chant in unison with the devil’s sonata when i have an epiphany. Butterflies emit from my toes as i walk with sensitivity. I ride a broom instead of a truck because wheels i do not need. I feel more inclusive in nature than any kind of eulogy. I celebrate every day as if i don’t it’ll hurt.
My next muse will be sorry if thee ever crosses me for words cut deeper than the sharpest blade and i my pen will bleed. I time travel if i have to unless it doesn’t suite me. I only wear a pointy hat when it’s Halloween.
The Beatnik alchemist 