Kristine Coleman


Waving Wands


a magician’s avowal

as within, so without

easily an agreeable contention

that full is fueled through connection

to the self, to the point

where abandoning material until utter nothingness

delivers inner peace

and another take to take would be  

a way to say

befriend our demonic mental monologue

to become oneness, the voice of I inside

channeling togetherness sense between

the many splits in mind

properly fashioning to strip self down

to a state of emptiness from everything else

this teaching by brain chemistry healers

the more touching of the suchness you are

the most freedom of being no one ensues





we lay diagonally upon a red bed

as an island centered amid

manic masterpiece murals

the very first time love making

us, we create life in each other

you, consuming my thoughts thus you may have me

i, pondering the possibilities concluding you must take me

high and deep to the next level of existence in the game of soul evolution

when suddenly we link, sync, think

on the same wave in the same page

we communicate by swimming our streams of conscious

as one song, the universe

playing itself out in ourselves, one mind graced two vessels

until in this moment physicality evaporates as our auras mesh

we are within a balloon of heavy intuition speaking the language of essence bonded

mixing matching vibrations, energies remembering one another

the genuine magical happening of twin flames united

you rise and guide me to follow

i do, shakily, weakened by submission

are we like the sun and the moon?

something like that, a mind message whisper

i fall you exit

though our connection impossible to sever

galaxies apart i still

catch the feel of you





you could abolish her soul to the pits of Lucifer’s dungeon

toss her passion off a speeding motorcycle through an abandoned lot

reject her representations, leave her for the sharks, then delete her from your memory

and it wouldn’t be dark enough

she likes it rough and raw and is ready for total annihilation

just to craft a twisted narrative

revealing the emotional masochist at her cracked bone core

so anything you do

couldn’t be dark enough

to satiate her hanged heart

try telling her reasons for existential dread

fuel her through sad endings and unjust outcomes

anger her mess within by ruining realites

go ahead yet it

wouldn’t be dark enough

for she is the most metal hatred dweller

the blackest hollowed out corpse

a demise junkie with a kill will

so try your damndest to smite with the reaper’s scythe

but beware

nothing is dark enough

for the lust of death






remember that night

we spelled ourselves out of the third dimension

by casting each other the role of divine lovers

a soul-bearing vulnerable dialogue

confessions of mad folk

resonating in the mutual dualism we embody

lunar shifts within skulls

it’s impossible to come up from the bottom of the rabbit hole

so we gather mud and branches to build a home

pledging prose that those off the scale of relatability

colonize solitude to listen to intuition

for it speaks truth

solving holy mysteries

such as debunking the notion the love is exclusive

honey it permeates as the oxygen penetrating all beings

tune in and let it be

our guiding force the answer a game

and if it’s unfelt

may the resurrection be

awareness that the I in eyes

is a god/dess of sorts

here to enjoy the aesthetic realm of humanity

equally for one moment and infinity

never forgetting our purpose

to emulate unity of mind, body, spirit

and us  


Sway Me


pointing at the retrograde

justifying absurdity

perhaps everything and nothing influence life’s flow

the grapes gone sour spewing a dash of yuck

fruitioning into a bad moment

rippling into a shot afternoon

just the same as the subconscious pick up

of your neighbor’s experience with sour grapes

could shape you bitter

direct indirect

it’s all a blended soup in the plane of experience

on the spectrum of totality

it’s all true fiction

huh, yes that’s exactly

how i mean

whatever you believe

Heart with Wings

Kristine Coleman writes from a place of mystical experience and a darkened heart. She performs her poetry at open mics and subtly in motion during the day-to-day. Other pleasures of hers in this lifetime include drawing, hiking, listening to myriads of podcasts, and improv. You can find her on Twitter @kristine_i_am

or visit her website