WITCHCRAFT & STITCHERY *excerpt*

You’ve been a very good witch, but man oh man, how did you grow up to be such a little snitch? You’ve been telling your own secrets to yourself, hiding souvenirs from stolen lovers and friends in our bedroom, waiting…

WITCHCRAFT & STITCHERY *excerpt*

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You’ve been a very good witch,
but man oh man, how did you
grow up to be such a little snitch?
You’ve been telling your own secrets
to yourself,
hiding souvenirs from stolen lovers
and friends in our bedroom,
waiting for their use to come.
You’ve let yourself know you
don’t know where those items lay.

Inflamed and in flames
a little monochrome scratch
on your thigh / shin.
No pet, you can grow your own nails
and show situation-triggered
hostility against yourself.
In a way, it’s the fault
of all others after all.

A craft is learned in inconspicuous ways
a pact made in exchange of drops of blood
from the tip of the needle, / nail / pin;
I don’t think you learned to do this
all by yourself.
An ability must’ve been born with you
or not, but gaining of which
is a matter of a simple economy.

When a cloth is destined a hole,
the hole will come.
One will know if the break is fixed,
one will know it’s true face is a rag.
You are playing with shrouded perception.

Eyes full of dust.
Vocal cords in knots.
A bracelet made; when broken,
all friendship is gone.

When only thinking bad wishes,
are you still guilty of what will come?
You could also fake sharing sensitive matter,
and nobody will know but the back of your teeth
and the conscious bits of the tongue.

Your own self will come and
backlash at you;

Months and months without work
how to prove
you can use your skills at all?
A chair must be sat
to fix the upholstery,
cushioning your pretend-sore
skin and musc-le.

Let it drowse off,
and let them all down.
Let that hair down,
cut-off of waited-for pretty.

Hack the ritual
in a new material;
a good velvet is not to be seen.

Those lights have not been dimming,
you wouldn’t even know what a light is.
it’s the lack in you not to perceive,

a good velvet is not the be seen.

Why still put up with the smell of cigarettes
that were smoked by all others,
reeking through your clothes?
As, washing the dirty dishes
left in the kitchen sink
with someone else’s food-stains and saliva.

Were the lights really getting dim,
dimmer, dumb;
and do not worry about it, was said,
the perimeter around me is as free as myself;
my exhale travels, but is still mine;
it’s not my consideration, the atmosphere we share,
it is your own hindsight in blur.

Why speak up,
if a bitter pout makes the same gesture,
The jokey of emotion can deliver all deeds,
but you are only tired
it is all on the fatigue and
you should be sleeping by now.

What you caught on the wrong moment
is unreal and never happened.
With shut eyes you were only dreaming,
your ears lie to you when you cannot see.

You should listen to what’s been approved,
as smarter words can be thought,
and better motions performed.
All crafts can be skilled up
in a threshold of the dog-eared.

No dog year for the next ten years.

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