It’s Not the Season for Voodoo

Published by Oddball Magazine.

I’m in your voodoo.
Your yellow eyes
Hiss at the moon
Pretending, pretending
To love me.
Selling your soul away singing:

I’m the only one you look at
Like that

I’m in your voodoo.
It’s hot and it’s damp—
It’s wintertime,
Long and hard.
I spread myself around
Just like your lies, lies, lies:

Put your hands on me
Like that

I’m in your voodoo.
A doll made of doll parts
You cut my hair
And jammed your needle.
I belong to you
Out of my own free will:

You can’t get rid of me
Like that

You burn Bibles
Just for the high
And twist your dagger into my spine.
I’m in your voodoo,
So I can’t rise up
Without you bringing me down:

How come you keep showing up
Like that

I’m in your voodoo.
Your sadistic Satan self
Glistening under holy water—
I ran out of crosses,
Lost my religion, and you
You’re far beyond salvation:

Prayer doesn’t save a person
Like that

How do I get out of Bethlehem?
I’m no more diamond pure.
I’m in your voodoo
And you’re no good…
Acid trip, there’s no coming down!
God turns a cheek:

I can’t seem to get out
Like that

You have as many demons
As you do black magic toys;
You treat me like you like your drugs:
Hard.
I’m in your voodoo.
Hail Father Lucifer:

Why do you do me
Like that

painting: “The Last Rainforest,” Keith Haring (1989)

 

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