the wind howls outside my window
as if to say “stay inside
this world is a dangerous place
for people like you”
yet somehow i manage to survive
despite the hostile climes
protect myself with a blank face
and head on a swivel
but all it takes is one moment
through a gap in the armor
and the illusion falls apart
from deep inside of me
so i gather up the fallen debris
patch it together again
reinforce the armor where i can
and return to the fray
i remember the clothes she wore
a green sweater
the shade of a storybook forest
excitingly chunky, soft to touch
a drawstring skirt
that swept and slid dramatically
on the schoolhouse floor
a pair of tan pumps
that made you feel tall
confident, and beautiful
a fake pearl necklace
and, briefly, a floppy white hat,
that hid your beauty
from the other girls
until you put it aside
you stepped out of the room
a gentle hand touched your shoulder
took you aside and explained
“the dress up box is for girls”
all at once you understood
and the spell was broken
as you placed the clothes
back in the dress up box
and turned back into a boy
did you know you would return?
a gentle caress
the touch of soft skin
mouth to mouth
and breast to breast
our bodies entwined
clawing at your back
as we moan in twain
pleasure and pain
you awaken the animal in me
i lose my head
screaming like a banshee
liberated by passion
wanting nothing more
than your body on mine
the lightest touch of my nimble hand
bringing you to climax
with gentle exhortations
you buck and shake
releasing sweet nectar
we share its taste
i clasp you close
to press the soul
back into your body
in this moment
everything outside of us
melts away in flames
of shared body heat
I am a woman
from a certain angle
if you squint
I am a girl
under certain conditions
for certain values of “girl”
I am the divine feminine
and I am a empty pit
as deep as the earth
I am beyond comprehension
and yet simple as it comes
I embody all contradictions
constant as the morning sun
I know nothing of myself
except for what I am not
And that, at the very least
is a damn good start
Wherever you go the past always follows
and it weighs heavy on your shoulders
a geography of emotion tied up in history
far too personal to share except as poetry
Manhattan is made of your own memories
enough to trip over as you cross 6th Avenue
a hard landing in a pile of faded failures
new eyes notice how it all comes full circle
You were full of unearned confidence then
drunk on love and the newfound freedom
of reinvention that took you in all directions
from uptown to downtown and back again
The culmination of transformation occurred
at last but in deep isolation from the world
you emerged eighteen months later blinking
those new eyes a gateway to an old soul
Or perhaps it was the other way around
after all this time you're still not quite sure
how everything became so familiarly strange
let alone what you're going to do about it
the scent of burning leaves
on an autumn night
incense and perfumed oils
and the candle's flame
ritual, magick, and passion
that flows from the soul
a chthonic entity
made flesh and blood
to walk the earth in darkness
the canary sits and sings in her cage
while the miners do their heavy labor
her chirping sounds mean all is well
and the miners work on beside her
the canary's job is to be a warning
to stop singing when there's danger
now her song is becoming strangled
it's getting harder for her to breathe
the miners keep breaking their backs
not a single one stops to check on her
digging on as the tunnel fills with fumes
as the canary falls victim to toxic vapor
her song no longer echoes in the tunnel
yet still the tired workers sweat and toil
until they too start to fall to the floor
it’s not on the canary if they ignored her
— Nora Neurosismancer (2023–2024)
This work is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0