Poem by Kyle Labe

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.