Poem by Kyle Labe

Photography © Steve Warren

 

It’s Not the Season for Voodoo

I’m in your voodoo.
Your yellow eyes
Hiss at the moon
Pretending, pretending
To love me.
Selling your soul away singing:
I’m the only one you look at
              Like that
              I’m in your voodoo.

It’s hot and it’s damp—
It’s wintertime,
Long and hard.
I spread myself around
Just like your lies, lies, lies:
              Put your hands on me
              Like that

I’m in your voodoo.
A doll made of doll parts
You cut my hair
And jammed your needle.
I belong to you
Out of my own free will:
              You can’t get rid of me
              Like that

You burn Bibles
Just for the high
And twist your dagger into my spine.
I’m in your voodoo,
So I can’t rise up
Without you bringing me down:
              How come you keep showing up
              Like that

I’m in your voodoo.
Your sadistic Satan self
Glistening under holy water—
I ran out of crosses,
Lost my religion, and you
You’re far beyond salvation:
              Prayer doesn’t save a person
              Like that

How do I get out of Bethlehem?
I’m no more diamond pure.
I’m in your voodoo
And you’re no good…
Acid trip, there’s no coming down!
God turns a cheek:
              I can’t seem to get out
              Like that

You have as many demons
As you do black magic toys;
You treat me like you like your drugs:
Hard.
I’m in your voodoo.
Hail Father Lucifer:
              Why do you do me
              Like that

 

Photography © Steve Warren

 

Kyle Labe is a sophomore writing, literature, and publishing major at Emerson College. He has had work published in anthologies and contests nationwide.

Steve Warren is a veteran, recovering addict, a peer specialist and is Reiki II certified who was old at 40 and is getting younger every day at 54. He is a self taught Naturalpathic Self Healer and is the co-host of “What Do You Think?” He changed his diet started dancing, writing and performing poetry and hasn’t stopped healing since.