The Secret Sorcerer Society
Readings

“a beginner’s guide to splitting your brain”

when I said you’d be the death of me,
I was being literal. the left side of me is
a ghost, wrath kept it in the divorce
twenty eight years ago
when I was too young and stupid
to know what a prenup was
and I’ve been giving away pieces of me
since
when I promised you my hand, I was being
literal
keep it, preserve it in any way you want
after I am gone
whether you wear my bones as a talisman
to remember me, half dead haunted pipe organ courtesan assassin
or calcify it
like percy bysshe’s heart
to remember me by
when my time bomb mind decides to explode
and you outpace me on this race to the edge

when I said you’d be the death of me, I was
being literal. the two halves of my body
run on syncopated time
an unexpected eighth note in my limp
when my left foot drags behind my right
an odd time in my step
my right hand moving my left in time when
it balls up and refuses to obey any longer
even my brain has changed shape from
the stress of it all that I once called the thrill
but gods’ honest truth is that I think it’s
slowly killing me although I breathe for it
and I don’t remember how I got the will
to stay alive
I am no more god than ozymandias but I am
by no means fragile
I can and would walk  through a hurricane and dance barefoot on sea glass to have you
believe I love you and know I mean it
and even though the spring sun may singe
the skin of this transmasculine tragedian
troubadour
it will take far more than heat and pressure to break me

and when I am gone, remember me as
a mountain of madness
remember me as a three legged hare who
decided to roar
remember me as one who fought for you
fought with you, fought death, did not go gentle
became the whirlwind, became the lightning,
and was the one that the lightning struck back.
remember me as the human unchained
the one who walks free
remember me as the one who shot the moon
and took the stars and brought them down for you
remember me as a hurricane, the madwoman
in the attic, the singer of morning
molten golden light,
the one in the ring who feared not the brave pain
and stood tall and bellowed at two generations of fire anyway,
the conjurer of shape and smoke
and color, the one who dared to split my mind
to walk in tragedy
to write my own eulogy
and take up fucking space anyway
remember me while I am here
remember me now
remember the life of me
while I still breathe


Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *