Weight of Whispers

Weight of Whispers

My heart gets ugly.
Viens arteries squeeze
sinews bruised
Faulty flap
a wink of sucking
before the gurgle
of flimsy fallout.

It stops
now, then
Push my/love push/my love push my/love push my blood/comes back
dead just/a/little/comes back dead/goes

an echo when
there should be

— February 2003, New York City

From the vaults. My last year in college, post 9/11 world. Air, breath, beating, reacting.

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Holly hails from an illustrious lineage of fortune tellers, yogis, folk healers, troubadours and poets of the fine and mystical arts. Shape-shifting Tantric Siren of the Lunar Mysteries, she surfs the ebbs and flows of the multiverse on the Pure Sound of Creation. Her alchemy is Sacred Folly — revolutionary transformation through Love, deep play, Beauty, and music.

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