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  • Writer's pictureRED

ORACLE



The writing on the wall at first will bleed

Clawing at the crawlspace

The pulp! to sculpt!

Picking, gnawing until each ruby drops one by one

Like big gobs of blood

Fingertips raw

Because I thought I saw Jesus within the pulsating wall

A prophetic drawl

Pathetic bawling

Incessantly crawling back beneath the dining hall into a little fissure in the wall


I thought myself an Oracle

A categorical misfit

Wedged beneath

A Babylon

A spider strung

A demon stung, little needling thing

Ghastly and withdrawing

O negative, provocative!

That its little prick might bleed the human out of me

And plop me in pieces onto little plates with little forks and little spoons

That whosoever hungered shall commune on me


I thought Lucifer a black beetle with wings

That buzzed around my head

Until I felt intoxicated

And I tried to force my own death

With a blunt force to the spleen

Hands clenched to beat the demon out of me

What’s wrong! What’s wrong!

I hear a blurred voice beyond

Rounded out and heavy, like a bowling ball

That might come crashing through the rafters

Would I like a skylight, with plaster

Blown out that I might shrink beneath

A sunlight, too heavy

To be redeemed

And sprout wings like angels

Glowing in between

Days between days between days

Be tipping the tables

Till the servant’s aplomb

Ready to be spat out and birthed

Unearthed from this hellish pit

I’m like a nesting doll built

To rip open that I might find more of me beneath

I’m nearly bursting from the seams!

Folded petals cascading endlessly

I’ve given birth to a hundred versions of me!


The Oracle of Delphi can see

Shapes along the cavernous wall

And she carves out the grooves in the shade of

Marooned renegade

So degraded beneath the bedrock of the fall

She’s got a feast for eyes!

But not for taste or comfort

Distorted between that space between

The rock and the hard place and that glistening wall

A scrawl like the caveman drips in oxblood

Swollen to the brim of reason

And bludgeoned

Then caked like mud into the crevice in between

To stopper up the bleeding then

To choke out the convening and

Prophetic dreaming of Belshazzar


I’ve a mind to whisper his name three times

To see if he might reappear before me as if to give our

Incantations a nice punch in the underbelly of the earth!


Because beneath the carmine and the wine

And the crimson rose

Is a sacramental Merlot

And a rust flavored ode

Where I erode

Brick beneath brick

Stuck beneath stick

And I lick, lick, lick at my wounds!

So pallid and cool

Beneath a devilish hue

I’m the Lady Godiva!

Unveiled but too intangible to describe a

Half shade of throe

I’m too alone to strike martyrdom

With my little fists and my little toes

My little fits and my little throws

To crack the earth in two just to get beneath this!

A double-fisted punch though might do!

To wrench the heart right out of the ribs of God!


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