dance the fruit

a fragile strand.

the nimble spider’s thread.

trans parent tinsel

once binding, yet

i am reweaving it again.


heart connections hidden

buried in art boxes, titles, and organic

member ships.

I feel, i breathe,

and so begin again.


Love true? imbalancing act fell through.

net not needed.

thats how it all began.


fall fall, fall down.

there is no end.

momentarily disconnecting, back to


the space within.


finding comfort in death and darkness,

wherein Hel begins.

A goddess, (which?)

crafting and creating from her fiery womb;

a tomb for each realized illusion

and faulty karmic equation.


awareness bound through

the supple belly.

softly moving, rising,

guiding breath in.


the breath we share,

in that space, we

dance there.


seduce yourself, get high

on whats given

and dance the fruit

of next season.