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  • Chapter 19


    DON'T LOOK BACK


    Sparks
    still fly upward
    from her long fingertips
    and shoot off into open space
    from her boney wrists

    all
    figuratively speaking
    of course.

    but
    like a watchdog
    smelling down heat,
    she stands ever so erect
    as a voodoo bounty hunter
    and damn near naked in my doorway
    late this evening,
    and
    smiling
    devil-may-care-like
    while cracking
    and snapping chewing gum
    within range of her front teeth...

    none
    other than
    my own witchy woman wet dream
    and personal Malibu Barbie
    gift-wrapped as some occult highness,
    not to also mention
    a reborn version
    of Svengali's slut herself

    Corrine.

    I've
    no doubt
    there's a leak,
    a traitor somewhere
    buried deep inside my tent
    who's spilling information about me
    like 30 weight oil
    hot and spitting out
    from a cracked crankcase
    along the road of my secret life,
    a mere two-lane blacktop
    greatly broken
    and
    in desperate disrepair.

    Corrine
    knows too much
    about so many things
    regarding me,
    especially
    an awful lot about Shara
    and
    the falling domino effect
    that follows her.

    she's
    also quick
    as a winter's breeze
    at claiming psychic espionage
    as both her manner and method
    at gathering loose bits of information,
    though
    I strictly beg to differ.

    but
    no matter,
    for Corrine insists
    on giving me dire warnings
    about Shara
    and
    endless advice
    about making great haste
    at getting away from her
    as soon as possible
    before it's far too late.

    she
    gives me
    inverted stars
    and a dozen pentacles
    carved in silver,
    amulets and talismans
    formed out of wood and metal,
    all for my protection,
    and
    she hands me a list
    filled with many incantations
    from the mother wiccan
    using some ancient language.
    Corrine then gives me
    a greasy paper bag
    full of some strange kind
    of vegetative growth
    covered in slimy bumps
    that I'm to make into a tea
    sometime soon
    during a lunar crest tide,
    as well as handfuls
    of merits and milagros
    about rock stars
    and their drug rehab programs.

    but
    what Corrine
    doesn't understand
    is exactly what I tell her,
    that I can't take it
    right now

    or
    in fact

    any longer...

    and
    to please
    just leave me alone.
    at least at this juncture
    of my life.

    but
    she just
    stands there
    impenetrable-like,
    smiling persistently
    while chewing her gum
    without saying a damn thing
    as I grumble
    about something or another
    and forcefully push past her
    in order to gain entry
    through my front door,
    and
    then with a quick twist,
    I lock her out,
    hoping
    she'll get the hint.

    but
    I'll never know.
    I'll never be sure if any of it works
    simply because

    I don't look back.


    ZEN:
    caring
    by not caring.

    MAGIC:
    taking care
    by not being taken.

    MOVIES:
    being very careful
    as to how to look careless.


    ~~~~~~~~


    (c)2014 Miles Ciletti
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