OCD

 

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Be warned,

there is something

in the woods

unheard of,

guns loaded,

unborn.

 

Ritualistic death

among the

Ayahuasca.

 

I went there

to save you

from burning

and was

buried alive.

 

 

Alamogordo

image

(For Susan, Timothy, Sharon, and Steven)

At each phrase,
a gilt,
almost baptismal,
the way
wasps burn
ololiuqui moths
gold.

Before her death,
my grandmother gave me
a turquoise ring,
translating me
unrecognizable.

The advancement of those stars
were never meant
to be deciphered.

In the etched hieroglyphs
of humanity’s dead heroes,
some fated coincidence
collapses the ecliptic,
Oceana shrieking the
parable
of God’s eye.

Copyright 2014