blood magick

we did the puppet work & reached our hands
inside each other's stomachs. worship me like ice worships
the eaves. we sat in a circle & made our sacrifices.
me, a warm bowl of tongues. you a braid
of red fox tails. blood is always more than blood.
a river. a sleeping ocean. a memory of us
in the big king-sized bed talking about knives.
you always wanted to take a cruise. i wanted
only to float as a dead leaf. no one is coming 
to make a shrine for you. instead, you have to know
where you want you blood to go. i have filled
chalices. i have held special emergency holy weeks.
let's not pretend we haven't tried to be gods. 
instead, the carnivores have always been the disciples.
the radio talkers. the fathers of flightless birds.
where do you go when you are hungry 
for danger? i have loved so many people as a way
of hurting myself. is that love? magick? 
i have been abandoning all ideas of purity.
instead, i go to the river after it has finally rained
for days. mud & laughter. the drowned rabbits 
carrying each other's paws for luck
in the next life. you said, "i want to hold
a knife to your throat." i swallowed your hands.
the dorm room. you in the parking lot.
you on the ceiling as a chandelier. don't tell me you
weren't following my trail of blood. 
i saw you lick your fingers. in your stomach
i always found broken statues. you would 
pull nuts & bolts from mine. a machine
shedding its structure. coming apart as if you
were the fountain who could spit me out.
fill my lips with coins. spending each
on a spell where the not-birds carry you 
out of my past & into an old raspberry jam jar.