Stone Soup Croutons, 10-9-19, Spell

Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. You can read the other ones I've done since 2015 here. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, this poem doesn't go up because it's ready, it goes up because it's Friday morning.

April March Penn came by on Wednesday to feature at our new venue and offer Tarot readings. She was nice enough to give me a reading as well, which I appreciated. I incorporated some of that time in the poem below.

Due to my strong personal convictions, I wish to stress that this poem in no way implies an understanding of the occult. I just like the imagery.

Thanks for reading.


Spell

Grind up bird skeletons
into aphrodisiac dust.

Rub it into your neck
between irregular heartbeats

of an aging politician
during an election cycle.

Take your incantation
from other's creativity.

Steal lyrics the same way
neoliberalism steals cultures.

Make your sacrifice simple.
Throw away a newspaper

with news of the dead overseas.
Wipe unread black all over hands.

Ignore as if it were the smell
of gasoline in a migrant's hair.

In anticipation, go Damocles.
Hang your cards of swords

overhead in your guest bed,
unwelcome for coming alone.

Your High Priestess will show
the next night, miss you again.

New art in the Assemblage gallery this month.

The cards I

Our futures are sealed.

Special thanks to Suzanne O'Toole, Bil Lewis, Blackbyrd, Toni Bee, James Van Looy and April March Penn.