BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

Colin Wadey

A Paradox without Truth

a moment’s meditation on a poem received

Words slip, flip, slide, ride; make their meaning; find their niche. Truth sits parallel; truth shits paradigms; truth slits wrists, gives life, bleeds truth, para-truth, parallel parapsychotic paralympics. Bladed truth, bladed-runner, finds a joint, rubs it ready, ready to light, to fire. Joint inhaled.

Hale! Hail! Heil!

Your health!

Hope for something better, a salvation wishing-well –tossing coins; throwing hope. Down she goes, dropping, falling, slipping, tripping on that dope, on that smoke inhaled. A truth absorbed. A truth diluted. An incarnational whim within. Heilsgeschichte!

Nadin Sadek Evolution of Goddess

My dear, the rise of the feminine is here. Paint cracked in streaks through gritty ink-blood. Fingers smeared across like war cries to the cosmos.

She will no longer be silent. She will no longer hide in fear, my dear.

A red face. The moon phases. The stars are smeared yet effulged through her eyes.

She will march to the beat of her own drum. She will protect and defend the womb of her nature.

The earth roots its leaves up her ankles, knees, trees; grips the hips. Soil ground in her bones, the force to give life in this life, for petals of yellow to bloom between rocks.

My dear, the rise of the feminine is awakened. She will stand with the world shouting “My body is my instrument!”

Lightning down her legs. She will remain unshaken.