It’s dusk at the light house, clearing the low living room table just enough
to put a Go board down. A “quick game” while N is in the shower.
rhythmic click, click, click, interrupted
by trash talk when someone doesn’t put down fast enough.
Surrounded by cat toys, alchemical dictionaries, beer bottles,
what a silly way we modern mystics spend our days
and our nights slipping out under incandescent skies
feeling the bubble of isolation not sought but cherished
as my love, so graciously, presses
the lit tip of a cigarette between my leading knuckles.
Jay Artemis Hull is an occult experience consisting mostly of love, longing and library facts.
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