Tippy (Redux)


“This is the gateway to Hell, baby… Welcome to The Underworld.” – Kassandra Cross

“I don’t think I shall ever leave you” – Tippy

Of course, she never leaves me, there is that.

“This is our tree”, Tippy says, pointing up, her long pale finger reaching toward one branch of the scraggly Pinyon that blocks the night sky. I look up at the twisted tree. To me, it’s not much of a tree for us to have. “You shall always think of this tree and me”, Tippy says, her voice growing low, the right side of her mouth drawing down. Just like it always does when she is thinking hard. To me though, I’m not thinking about a tree. I’m thinking of the underworld, beneath the tree. That which, witch beside me. That naked which, witch beside me.

Of course, she never leaves me, there is that.

I touch the tree, on weeping sand, alone so barren there it stands. A dream I’ve had among this dark, that shook the windows, while angels hark. To sing no more that’s what they say past this midnight on a following day. To know what cometh, cometh it comes. A belled faire daemon, once someone’s one. For these here words jumbled and thrown, are scrabbled together in her dress sewn. The one right now that she lacks.  I wonder if shadow if that I wish could summon her forthwith, that dark eyed raven, naked that witch.

Of course, she never leaves me, there is that.

It’s been forty score as to the hour, the scope of dawn not yet opened, the sun not decreed. When I but a boy with tender raw hands rubbed her bare bosom stiff in the breeze. Summoned thy words for I could not speak, that sounded like screams of another world’s treatise. Laughed unto you, you laughed unto me, drew your odd spells, inside of me. Scribbled a labyrinth, signs of foreign leagues, kissed my heart breaking, forsaken me. Rare thy wisdom, less thy song, she says if you’re not with me, I will be gone. Oh, why is this, I say to Tippy, you are a witch, and I am just me. I am just me.

Of course, she never leaves me, there is that.

It is dark outside of what I believe, is me lying still in 73. The whole world is silent asleep in its womb. The high arid landscape, under “O’Keeffe’s” “Pelvis with Moon”. The stars are falling from heavens below, a reflection glowing in dreams Tippy sows’ An artist painting in fingers and lips, a sprawling body the deserts eclipse. For she above me, as from this world I slip, to go always sideways through the world where it rips. To find myself older, than the younger I see, a woman, a witch that fucks the boy that was me.

Of course, she never leaves me, there is that.

Now sure there are words in psychology, theories, and words from philosophy, but that is not this story, or what’s it to be. No, these words are truth in mythology. For the night has broken, well before dawn, the door is shaking in a tear that’s been years long. And into this voyage, a ship with no name, on do I sail to conquer and claim. That which was woven from that which I would see that I will take back from what Tippy placed in me.

Of course, she never leaves me, there is that. – דָנִיֵּאל – 03.31.22

44 thoughts on “Tippy (Redux)

  1. Dearest Daniel,

    I was just thinking of you this morning, and you pop up in my WP feed. While I don’t approve of this woman’s actions, I still appreciate the wording of this prose. Memories both good and bad do stick with us. Many try to deny them, especially the bad ones. It is better to get it out and just live on.

    Ruby

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Pingback: Tippy (Redux) – Nelsapy

  3. Daniel, the witch is war, and war fvcks us all. (You used the word first!)
    It seems I oft relate your writings to what is most current in my life.
    ….. and war has never left us, since the dawn of mankind.
    Never again, yet, yes, again.
    The witch sends us all sideways; many commas, no periods.

    Liked by 2 people

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