Full Moon in Scorpio…

Possessed, possessed by a need to overwhelm every tide in every little teardrop - cried, or not - , She rose full and closer. She roused, in the house, the thunder laid dorment under the dinner table. In the anniversary of the first year of whom we’ll become since we vouched to learn how to forgive, the grudge has grown old enough to start running around on its own feet.

She, standing on my shoulders, heavy as Silver, pissing blades over the bridges, a shower of words unhinged pouring cuts in the fabric of the car seat and the tablecloth. And the other Girl, the Big Sword Swallower, in famine, eating them all up to prove that she’s tough. Well, enough is enough. We’ve had it. Up to here.

He turns it up to hear the noise drown up the fears, all present and pregnant, enlarged by Her closeness, by Her loud and belligerent indulgence in stinging where it hurts, in bringing out the wounds from the bottoms where they lurk, silent and in slowburn, under the Taurus Sun. The louder the noise, the louder grow the voices, and Big Sword Swallower screams the sharpest, slicing the dog with a spit.

Dog’s not your aim - that’s me. I who dare speak with a sting on my tongue, to offer medicine to these bones quivering in the drawer, dying to come out. The things we don’t speak about, they shout in shaky sounds, so He turns it up and She screams, and no one’s listening shit anymore.

Well, enough is enough. I’ve had it. So did you. And we’ve just collected another bruise to sleep on and pray. “Tomorrow is another day”, don’t they say? We don’t say. We can’t say anything…

- C

© CARMVEN INC.

[the learned dynamics of shamanic dance]

your Shaman finds you.

you stop wrestling the Banshees gathered by the edge of your ears and surrender to a Silence, seldom heard, that navigates the hollow of your bones; and you’re sucked into its incessant vibration, pulsing in white microscopic collisions, and each pore on your ivory core explodes a star. they align in constellations. you feel their threads crossing your body in invisible maps, like webs, holding you together, keeping you whole.

and you look at a ceiling corner and see Spider nesting, or you walk out into The Garden, and cross a thread in the web.

you implode and your Shaman finds you through the rubble, and if you can surrender to its helping hand, your Strength finds you.

- C

© CARMVEN INC.

neverends of some Red…

found them again
in places unexpected
heard them say
my heart seems disconnected
what from?
steel pumping machines?
won’t know a thing about
canyons & rivers
rushing RED
swalling black
screaming white

found him, in the end
neverends of somewhere
never right to left from there
is a place
down the canyons

last words being said
last paths being tread
last greens, frowning dread
of leaves and things not ment
or meant to have been had
all too late
in the bin + a gallon of gas
a balloon tented RED
going up the sky again

down the canyons
rivers rush RED
as in skies’
open hands
this is where:
neverends of somewhere
welcome back in
colors, wear.

- C

© CARMVEN INC.

I rolled down the road
from the fall
tangled in Christmas Lights
all through January
had to bring the Tree down, but I had no time
I was running
door to door and away
inside the blue apartment, I knew
I had to stay, paint it yellow
move the bed
so I ran…

into February friends
none to fit the needs
one of them did
friend of a friend, maybe mine to be
closed deal in the luggage and off to the land
where the birds welcome me
by the shore
sand salt sun sweat
wind waves and waters deep, running
open skies
opened hearts of newness waiting.
the seaguls.

here I am.
this is now.

Happy New You.

- C

© CARMVEN INC.

in the wake…

I don’t know what happened, it’s like I got sucked in by a glitch in the rhythm. Things were moving at a great pace and I was so engaged, so when the road ended and the feet landed upon destination for the day, I lost my sense of purpose. I’ve been functioning to the borders of exhaustion because I had too much on my plate and no hunger to force a digestion. He came, this past year, Mighty Master of Time, with mighty demands and a scythe, and I was just ripe for the reaping. All my lack of practical action filling drawers with its absence, all brought out and spread across the floor for me to examine and make of it something that could promise a seed. From the moment He stepped into the door, I’ve been running - something I never did. But I had to. I had to know what it’s like to run and why do the weak do it so that I would know, maybe, it isn’t just about being weak. Though I’ve been weak…your maker takes a hammer to your bones, you fall; you pick up what you can, and run for your life - broken knees and hurt feet -, or you might get crushed. So I did.

You fall through holes when you run through roads unkown, and some of them land you right onto buried chests filled with gold. You pick what you can and ru…no - wait! - you pick what you must, you do what you can; you breathe and fix the parts that are still somewhat held together, you patiently weave a patch to mend the damage in the web. You rest for a minute, pick up the pace and keep assembling as you’re spinning and, sure enough, He’ll hold you in His hands just to blow you far again until He’s done playing, or you have outdone being played with.

I guess I’m found at one of those moments of arrest…a fierce calm dangling from His hand, freefalling in slow motion, like honey dripping, and just as unwarily sweet when it’s spread down so thin. But that’s just speculation, done by Faith in Hope, behind all this mad disynthesizing of the layers that sedimented this life, there’s purpose and purples of a very rare vibrance.

- C

© CARMVEN INC.