Whitchman

he breathes
the box fan purring behind him
the bristles of his crossed legs
touching for the first time
in this naked room
no jeans contain this fleshy Temple

hands on his thighs
he feels it first in his taint:
a rush of force
the collection of motion
energy from the cosmic waters
flooding his working man’s body
embracing the base of his aching spine
his solar plexus
the heart that hangs between his heavy breasts

his hands tingle with
The Dance
his ten fingers twitching
one for each goddess
Asherah, Inanna
full-bellied Gaea, Hecate, Demeter
KaliFrejaAphroditeCybele
and False Ego in the pinkie of his right hand

heat
collects in his throat like
crabgrass, which he sees in his
forehead’s eye just before
he crowns
white resplendence flowing
from his head to his ashy feet
truck — honks — outside
like a
shard
strait
bering
consciousness

he descends quickly the chakras

breathing
he lies down there in the hot room
hands on his thighs
and the real magick happens

[Liz Tetu is a cartoonist, writer, and Pagan polytheist, combining Brahmoism with the Norse/Wiccan path of his family. He is currently earning an undergraduate degree in sex and violence at Metropolitan State University.]

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