Words Like Chains-Allie/Dances With Tricksters

Dances with Tricksters

“Write your heart,” you said, “and not in the poetic sense – no, I want the gristle smeared on the pages, I want your hands to bleed, see – I just bit your pinky, and I will kiss your fingers gory until you can summon angel and demon and god.  You’re a wordsmith – a skald – a weaver of stories, and I will break you to make you sing.”

So you pushed, and you dissected, and you beat the words out of me until I vomited prose.  It came in tangles of guts, my entrails coming up from twelve to twenty-four, chasing after divination in the smoke of my offered meat.  You built up the pyre and my screamed poems were offerings as your flames licked me bone and the gods were pleased

The spirits came, the spirits came, the spirits danced and I rode Thunderbird’s back and I…

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