I am saying datura grows in colonies 

on abandoned roads on the hips of the interstate

i do don’t remember what she says

lost several hours, days even

ghost rattle

I am saying the dumb sky above looked down

on my galvanized roof, my castle and two bucks locked antlers

In front of the house

03:00 am

dragging each other 150 feet

I call the dream helper by name

It’s that time again

dirt

ash

mist captured 

The women of my clan tossed the family name into the pit

I too burn the bridges

goodbye

My vision can change with the invisible borders that

I see, then cross

Trespassing 

Yet further

I push it, reach the edges, some kind of darkness that brightens

Don’t look in the skelton closet you will find me there

The town dump, ocean, ravine, last stand of redwoods

I am the rubbish of the compound 

Being eaten by the village chickens

I shapeshift into the sailor, a crossroads

Then the common wife, the storm flower, perfect whore, your queen

I am on the porch tethered to a cinderblock that lays in the crabgrass

This is exile self chosen

I nap in the sun

Irresponsible

Drawing it out with a stick in the dirt

I am the green hoop around the sun

on far away days 

I see you in your manner

I speak in your Way

Dressing the house in tea and cakes

Spirit plates left for the dead

I know the songs for war, love, invisibility and undoing the sorcery 

I tie knots in the rhythm 

I say outright you have abandoned your own self

I say to you, those matching dishes and pillows is your spirit, malnourished

That formal garden, the same

I speak that I fear my own black magic and what I can do

what I have already done

I say I know these trees and which way to glance to accompish it all

Blood in the hollow

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This is what I am saying 

This is the language I speak