i held incense smoke in my lungs and counted backwards;
the backbend of a moon
that she said had spoke to her when she was nine
on her own, dress brushing in the mud, listening to the hay bales
and fairies divine on the warm midwest air
thisll go nowhere said moon
thisll die never
not ever no skyscraper built high enough to cut through us completely
when we accept ourselves as holy
and don’t tell no one just yet
but i know it real sure
young girl, you are holy

i exhaled in the attic
while she hooked back her bra
and reignited the hummingbird in her eyes
pressed down on her stomach to push the ghosts out
pulled the lace of her undergarments nice and tight on her hips
and vanished down the ladder with the musk and the smoke

i sat for an answer from the cross in the stars
dragging my knuckles against the slats of the roof
bruises and signals lost in translation
love and a hum ringing pure
but i know it real sure
young girl, you are holy

"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching

anachronism becomes this piece. such a loaded word here, holy, and even more loaded is its combination with accept ourselves. you should have gone there. you should have gone further, farther. you will. one day.
This is not a pipe