Transitory Conjuring.

Invoke thee. Summon
this dark,

lively and lovely damsel slithering
her finger forward,
towards her, in tandem
with fixed

and quasi-submissive eye contact
into the bullseye
of my overgrown, weed-infested
field of visions,

coercing

you towards her so seductively,
as if this bond
could work, as if this twisted

dream (half sun,
half moon, half-baked, fifty fucking percent
simmering
beneath elegantly shimmering,

reflected light) you spin
in your mind
could inspire much-needed growth, shake
you right out of the ant farm

and onto a path
that you’ve never known: one that leads

closer to your alien,
mystical,
freedom-loving,
passionate
and powerful center

of self

and lures
you into expression,
to bring it out.