When you have a chance, check out this publication (see the url address above.) The accompanying photos really add to the artistic feel of the site.
Ensorcelled Within the Moonlit Eyes of P’aqo
Her silly putty face worn,
The Dowager’s palm was greased
As the lightning strikes the beast.
Rivulets of blood seep from sacred dogs.
The starry-eyed loon,
The wild-eyed child
Running through the streets,
Stopping the second before those dogs pounce.
Smelling the tears, she in the childhood tent
Feels the old hocus-pocus
From outside, the hiss and blast of truth.
But the shaman has not lost his grip,
Much quieter next time,
The fight much less painful.
Just tell the truth,
Give no hypnotic promises,
No serpentine ballet
Woven between real and false.
She thinks, she feels
I’ll create the moon tonight
He does, he does.