These are the new days, as opposed
Old day stomping grounds translucent
Smoothed over hieroglyphics casting memories asunder
The moss upturned in the garden scattering relics from within.
There’s Rosa and Gloria and Betty and Diana, standing
Horizon glimmering with fresh graves
Outliers all of us gathering, inevitably
Dionysia descendants, wail-free.
Witchy outcomes need not apply
And yet the Fates predestine; spinning, allotting, unturnable
Life’s beginning and end presupposing a juicy middle
Poised as such on the quivering thread.
Before the battle beguilement sets in
Apropos of nothing
Blood smeared, smacked, kismet abounds
No shelter is there, here.
Pink robed inheritors freshly tinged, en masse
Uploading mega-byted courage
Shimmery with virtual strength, conquering
Scoping out prisoners, pre- slaughter.
There is pleasure in the doing
And strength, irrepressibly joyful
Sex ribboning out, endlessly twirling
Hands held to the light, after darkness.
Witnesses to the communion, sharing breaths
Delighting in the sweet expansive inhale
Softening softly on the unknowable exhale
In between shared spirits floating, endlessly. (Endlessly in-between shared spirits, floating)
Destiny made, one battle at a time
Awash in incandescent freshness, anew
There is beauty here, encircling the circle
Infinity, always curious, laughs.