Initially posted as a Twitter thread a long time ago. Revamped, Rewritten, and Republished for my new WordPress Blog.

My grandmother flies the night sky in a cauldron

Her broomstick dropping bombs on fascist encampments

She can cure hangnail tooth rot heartache and crotch louse

With the potions she brews in her chicken leg house.

My Mother perches atop a banana tree

The nail in her neck softening the face I see

Her white gown stained deep red from the man blood she spills

Fangs dripping, her laugh echoes as she drinks her fill.

My Sister waits for prey with a poisoned needle

For her favour they beg, cajole and wheedle

She tangles their stilled hearts in silk threads she weaves

Still inside they come, though never intact they leave.

I went to the crossroads where I lynched my brother

Whiskey in one hand and guitar in the other

My father, horned and ornery as an oak tree

Took and tuned my guitar, handed it back to me.

My ram horned wife seduced me at a bacchanal

As my punishment for the sin of playing well

Her tail beckoned. I followed her into the fire

My heart burned with lust for Meridiana’s daughter.

I shelter my son under a tall willow tree.

Never shall my family teach their tricks to he.

I tell him, grow tall, my son. Grow big and grow well.

Your boughs will reach Heaven, for your roots are in Hell.

My grandmother still lives in her chicken leg house

My sister still shares secrets and prey with my spouse.

My mother still drinks blood and laughs when I see her

I still have the guitar I got from my father.