©2022 Michael Raven
Vague notions jotted down…
Movement shaman: not acts, not performance, gathering the spirit — pulling it inside, drawing forth drawing in, filling the empty spaces full till bursting like tasting your tongue on mine as we kiss, tripping the light pale washing across the sky. Dancing the dust, stars that we are, and gut pull frenzy tugging charged with the everything. Hearts on fire, hearts of fire, we burn the night, slipping in the dank canals and writhing snakes. I am the desert, you are the sun setting as I race to catch you shifting through you hair.
I don’t want to know anything anymore.