from The Rapture :: Ivy Johnson


As documentation encroaches the ghost of emotional dance

I extend beyond the body with strings attached

Dancing with her 
I refuse to have my likeness taken

I’m constantly looking for something in mirrors

That disembodying panopticon

I am the woman of one thousand voices

Of one thousand bodies

In one thousand separate rooms


In the bacchanal I swayed

To the most fashionable of dances

Then went inside the bathroom

And adorned with lipstick the mirror

Everything I need is right here inside me

Target sells that in neon letters

You pay for originality

I am crying out for organics

Deliver me to a presence absent of mind

I want to stage an anti-art ritual where

The sun is real and

Connected by blood

I was once a powerful sorceress

Learned in the ways of magic

To be feared by all

But I left totality for

What I do not know

In tragedy

I follow my fate around

And still he leaves me

For a less barbaric woman

If desire is a longing after that

Which inside me I lost

Mimesis is thinking

The difference between the real

And its rituals

I know its impossible

But I can remember

A world where life was essence

The soul

Living through adventures did not know

The torment of seeking

But I know that torment

Yes, that is one thing I know