LUCID PNEUMA STUDIO

Creation Song
Women lurk in the darkness, spying on their brothers, so alien. How is it their bits fell out? she asks her sister. It makes them so strange. How can those who use them as fists against us, then blame us for their abuse? We Asked? We Deserved? We did not serve…?

If we put them back inside, do you think it would right them. Would they then remember the song that created their bodies? Woke them to be? I don’t know another replied, as she touched the smooth hair of her sister, but I am losing interest.

Let’s go fuck…

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Ballad for a Sister
I am holding you in my heart as a sister and a friend. I do not know you and make no excuses. It is easy to love in the abstract, and hard when one is close. At least it has been in my body.

I wake again and again from a dream of my creation.

Once more, I have chosen the dry well, seeking to slake my thirst.

How does one learn to see the dark stories,

stuffed in a tiny mouth

to stifle a cry,

fists flailing,

face crimson,

helpless.

These dark stories that re-emerge each day. And, bring such pain that one has to squint just to see the edges.

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The Strike
Do not use my body as a proving ground.

I will find peace in the ashes before I give in to that.

The thing I have always given into.
The self imposed slavery.
chained
attached
always at my behest
It seems there is a darkness is in my eyes which keeps me from seeing the realness of nothing…
It is sensation,
and nothing more.