Tell me where you ache?

Words are clicking in my head

like a reckless train begging for

direction.

I can’t write from the same old wounds -

not because they’ve healed,

but because such tracks are short

or mid-length at best.

And I’ve changed shape,

outgrown the agony of who I used to

be.

A hundred hands of Kali ma

touching the hundred faces

I’ve ever been,

like maybe She’s the cosmic Mother

moving between timelines

the way fluid flows

between tissues -

A riverbed of mystery and vitality

between cells and realms

in the flesh of

my body.

You see,

the Holy threshold of ageing

is teaching me Her ways

of forgiving

and becoming my truth.

Though, I’ve had to be willing

to turn my insides-out

in some kind of revolutionary act

of fighting back

against the meal

the machine would make

of me.

That’s the gift,

of slow decay,

and tending to the grief

of age,

To soften our return

to the black Womb and final tomb

of our last breath, and

death.

I want less people around

but more humans to touch

the ache of being alive inside

of me….

Tell me

where you ache

so I can know the ways you love?

They say that love is the only way

so I keep digging around

but I think we’ve got to Get Mad

and Go Mad…

probably both,

before we find the kinda love

that will save us.

Don’t you?