Thaumaturge

I fuck like a witch.

How thirsty my reliquary!

I rub ashes across my clavicle,

Conjure rhythm with my well-oiled bones.



My mouth full of broomstick,

The owl tree bending,

The body upending,

The duel with the moon.



I rip the hair of the moon.

I rip the skirt off the moon.



Its head moves the entire circumference.

Xs at my Os.

Slashing my robes,

Caught in my witch robes.

Bound and gagged in my witch robes.

Weaving new fabric from bark and moonstring.



The very ground blushes and crawls.

Crawls and smokes.

Ashes and crawls.



Still now.

My rubicund feet stoned in altar.