I came in with janky mojo,
head peppered with hard thoughts,
face painted with Kaiju’s blood,
skeleton in a spooky suit.
Who was that vampire in a red cape,
its song tracing through my pulse,
heckling my impatient choices,
talking shit about God?
When did I become a cold machine
that breathes frost and coughs dust?
My bone cage jumps
in the attic of my disappointment.
Lorca too was disappointed
in the magpie’s quick-like song.
My appendages cannot climb
to any honey pulse to fix it.
But egomaniacs love religion,
think it’s all about them.
Gods dance like insects in my head,
and cup my red-eyed soul.
End-times only a strobe-lit
boogeyman, just enough horror
that sometimes I look side-eye
through the flapping trees.
In the end, my fluid roots
the only curative to bottoming out.
I came in abuzz with janky mojo
and no hoodoo gonna take it back.