Abaya

Running my dry, static charged fingers over
The dry static charged back of my hand;
There is a coldness, a mass exodus of atomic cells,
Then the tracing of the deep brick spring bud of a drawing.

Breathe in. Breathe out.
The musty smell of weed is an after-breath-taste
My throat is numbly achy
And my eye sockets heavy.

Jon Hopkins keeps me from sleeping;
The fact that he is the moment for now.

What a night! One can only exclaim.

Labels. Radical feminism.
Eco feminism. Anarcho-feminism.
My lip curls skeptically.
Sub groups dividing into smaller, powerless groups
All seeking the same in the end.

Survival.

With abated breath I excitedly
Embrace children from my other mother,
My Arab counterparts.
So smiling, so incredible; so sisterly.

The talk propaganda.
Culture. Politics. Religion. Oil
And infinite wealth secured in three
Growing metropolises that deal 45% of the world's oil
That could tempt this civilisation into doom if toyed with.

And yet these smiling, eye-bright beauties are naive;
They are packaged from Saudi with flags
Sent to en-trance the world.

I could so easily fall for any of them.
In their weakness I see my own.

In their weakness I see A's vulnerability
Brought torrentially forth after my 5 years of excruciating curiosity.

I was just not prepared for it now.

Stunned into silence I could only look into her sad eyes,
And see the resilience so bright now, the survival so strong
Was ever more admirable now.
She escaped, when others couldn't.

The exorcist musings in an old bike shed shattered my empathy,
It dug deeper; it let the dragon free.
For a while I could fix my eyes on the placated, now demonic drummer,
And consume him; for then he was mine.

The evil escaped, and in its place a fresh lava flow of fresh agape flowed.
It was primal; I was howling with people I had shared beds with,
Shared hot ideas with, rants and so much more.

In this time I wish I could have shared so much more with the drummer!

The wild self excorcised, lacking inhibitions I released myself to the night wind and stars
And smoked, surrounded with primal strangers whom in that moment I could have dismissed
And instead ravaged somebody else.

Felt the all seeing hand light on my scalp, then heavier, then evidently intentional
Purposeful in its desire; its lustful want.
The tracing of the lips, the biting of the finger,
The stillness in such play.

Then the ravaging, gouging, tessellation of the bodies into one
One self so urgent in its fertile want.
The lingering, the tantalizing pauses, then the gouging, feeling returned.


The abaya lifted.