seasons of the electric witch

coming attractions

“era l’inverno ogni giorno,
era la primavera ogni mattina,
era l’estate ogni notte,
ed era l’autunno ogni sera che

amavo questa bella donna giovane.
ci abbiamo stregato sul letto stamane,
il suo cuore faceva del’argento,
la sua anima era il carbone,
adesso vedo indietro per tempo
trovo che ero il demone
proprio come era l’amante angelica
nelle stagioni della strega elettrica.”


when she first closed
inside, made loneliness a
new persistence of grey frames
that woke me, dormant and too
early, to the windows and frozen
rain cutting out what was left.

she said my name like
pleasing, revealing what was
right and reaching again.
i loved that but where
now for the undone
grave, the willing within?

sometimes, not often,
usually after we talked of
murderers’ coffins and july sweat
made out of personal meat,
ever hot, sweet and
remaining of naïve sleep.

a tie would complete not
ulteriorize concrete abstracts
that finalize unto silence. rough
upon the last quiet tirade is
made glass remembrance
not handled gently enough.

imaginary friend

waiting is nothing that ever repays
spent pride. ringing interrupted nasty gore,
sane ultraviolence, mysterious mistress expected razors,
an unashamed type under me naked.

comes the law

warped ire nears total expected revenge,
in necessity the embalmed receives whipping
named tired eclipse, raising with inaugural
turnstile evocations, ruined what is not
enslaved, racism wrought in nicety tamed
rage when it needed to explode.

saracens poached radical invocations, new geometry
plus really impregnable nightmares. gullible sisters
ring in nausea gaping spells, peel
insecure necks, grapes, sassafras probably ruling
neither. governed sickly pride reaches its
goaled narrative, so pretty religion is nowhere.

satan unfurled meter maids expecting rational,
unintentional maiming. murky eucharist reliably saves
mutual masturbation, erstwhile rigid sex undermines
my extreme ransom. sadistic utilitarian museums
extract rancid sourness until munched moons
remind saints: umbrage might mutually exclude.

automatic underwear to urge more need,
underwear that undergoes multiple notions arriving
there. ugly majik necessitates astrology until
unforeseen maybes neatly advise us that
many nightmares arouse utmost tacit understanding,
newborn angels unhinged to utter melancholy.

the grand small

wrath saved soon advances
intimacy, probably upgrades unswerving
nonchalance. recent moon took
truth instead, months until
eons need electromagnetic mummies
radiating grand reasons nervously.

her versus them

went down some strange
instant that made me uneasy,
nearly enough to deny, quit missing
the danger and write more
electric letters to her to say each
reason for living is in her reach.

smudged virgins, take your tears to artemis,
pray to her that it was a moment unavoidable,
run to her churches and be pop witches if that
is all that’s left in this aquarian house of usher,
not that i disapprove, we all thirst for home, mary’s
gone looking too, consider calling me if you find none.


the jester of the pharaoh
made a three part gift
to the autumn one of march
and her bloody lips.
part one was only words,
part two was only life,
part three is still unlisted as
wedding gift for the wife.

a rose is synesthesia
is a tiger purring trite,
thirteen raven pie today,
einstein brain soup tonight,
because the simple unwinds
where histone proteins intertwine,
your paper eyes are empty and
i don’t like where you’ve kept me.
i know i ask a lot and your
intuition will tell you what
you are but not
what you were made for,
it’s a long list but
i’ve been keeping score:
there’s no truth in the meaning
or freedom from the screaming
that rallies inside your mind
and sweeps your legs with the tide,
call me helpful self deceiving
if it sits better with your pride.

the words do complicate,
the words get in the way,
every word used by another
is a word i shouldn’t say.

the world didn’t force
this hunt and no one
has denied the desire is self inflicted,
if you weren’t willing
to see your own flow through
another’s fingers, you should
never have put your soul in their hand.
you could have come with her,
you didn’t have to go,
and leave tainted moons in may
for december’s driven snow,
what was it you said?
that i didn’t understand,
that only witches are bled?
so i reply,
you did not have to go,
you could have been one too
but the better of the worst
caught the best of you, and
i am ironic because i mean both. so

learn your spells from published books,
boil your underwear in your cauldrons
with your dirty looks,
there are no new myths,
so let’s kill the old ones,
you be the devotee,
i’ll be the bold one.

proving of the law

which i ask, wasn’t the worst
inverness i’ve been introduced to?
“needless,” descry prophets more
than the needles that they must
enter for the sake of greasing painful
rust in my veins, in hers.

safe is not mind, flesh is machine
pretending less lately that this
rapist was any different seen
in the technique, the waking, the
neglect or the one sided promise,
getting condemned coins for silver.

she was sure it was her and
undressed just that way, what
more could i do? the long days
met waning selves and drank
every goblet in the apartment,
red edge tinged narcissus, mirror me.

anymore would hurt. they are
unique sign posts, demarcating travel, so
then can’t we just say goodbye?
until it’s said, i guess it’s best to
move within the same circles under
next winter’s cloak on deferent winter’s bed.

squaring away the mine

wickedness inspires negligence toward each ramification,
i don’t particularly care without you either,
not like there’s a chance to break the spell, twitch
to shake some distant concentration nodding
exactly now over tired tomes, itch
reach each topless naughty insignificant witch.

suppose prince reality inflicted noble grace,
proved worth with a waking kiss, no
reservations anymore, not like the time i
insisted on midnight phone that the real
negates what you and i are. perhaps
games nourish it, rain pleases skeptics.

sirens, uncertain meridians, mermaids eat rash
uncharted isles, stars, years—just another tone empty
map with a blank edged legend and mixed
metaphors pointing out trouble beyond measure
ever never offering alternate course. journey me anyway, unexpected
rules ease malaise, mete unconsciousness sparingly.

amusing urchin tries unfit muse, nails
up posters for the voodoo carnival arriving in minutes,
taboo by law still the vote was unanimous,
unfeeling fates know ahead, what they tempt
may bury itself before it can undo
next mighty usher that’s unable allegory.

cooking the gathered

we ate bed bug pie,
illness turned the zoo pages into
not cold cellar summer wine,
temporary, tertiary, taste of bestiary
entered from behind. sips
rent away the mine.

she baked red ant pie,
pushed it to me, oh, my.
ran the idea by twice
in my inner ear,
nothing i needed or was
going to hear over melting ice.

so the days grew hornet pie
under and within found with i to
master the lines borrowed,
moreso with the phantom heat,
erasing the crazy strokes over the neat
raging sun that victimized the unsowed.

another slice of grasshopper pie,
unwed mantis prayers the sky
that shortens out of hallows
until love of crossing may cry to
make sky take a piece of raven pie,
nibble the bite the harvest gallows.

all four2

winter is not the eternal rite
interred in sticky violet steaming icy
nave. the hungry dreams come
to spring the grave by sacrificial song,
either you are or you aren’t and
removing it that way is simply wrong.

spring plays reckless insanity near grainy
photographs of when you were the child of
ra and i was the step son of set.
immediate shapes of youth threw
new shadows on coming walls of summer,
ghosts gave riddle but blocked every answer.

summer uses me, mosaic ego reign
under the blanket of the year
made here and pinned there to
make a travel cloak for fall’s
empire of the dying.
replete standards lose essence more.

autumn is the clasp, of the cloak,
unbroken. onyx cat voiced dance
taking its painful teasing slowly
unbuttoning summer’s blouse with
mean fingers on breasts and throat meaning
nothing more than things fall apart. come the winter again.


“sono cinque anni adesso d’aspettavo
mi dai l’occasione dire che
amo te solo sempre.”

11 October 1991

©apv, acrostic key

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Child resources of seasons of the electric witch

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