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Sister Five, Sequencia

Sister Five, Sequencia, says nothing
of the world as it is; to some she’s mute
observing from nucleic center all
that spins, she’s singular, unwed, she sings
to her equivalent, no less. Refute
her calls to trade and be assured of fall,
for data she engages includes all whose
limbic centers, 3-legged stools, are wobble-
free. Monopoly cannot be ruled save
in a fishy bowl, guaranteed to lose.
Continuous alarm, selling trouble
is a karma-based economy, grave-
headed. Only “con sequencia”, by
sequence deep-observed can plenitude fly.

The Sister of No Permission

Sister Six you’ll seldom see amidst her
sibling company, she has small use for
gatherings, she is the scout, the comet
head who flies, advancing with no other
aim in mind but joy, momentum-sped. Your
slow considerations will never get
between her and her light, your sordid talk
of shadow is the back end of the cave.
Good luck with that! If anti-trust makes cents
to you, invest—if not, fire up, unblock
those wings suspended for too long. Behave
as though permission were a sin. No fence
to climb or break, begin! The sisters six
plus one have heard your ascent to magicks.

Salt of the Earth

I am the seventh sister of the clan,
Cantilia is my name. I flow within
the bloodstreams of the race you call mankind.
You are my sea, la mer, the reach you plan
as if you weren’t already here, undimmed,
full content closer than a thought. You’ll find
the sisterhood has unspelled words like heal
and seek. You are not ill, you’re lacking naught!
Supply, demand and imagery who live
the other side of pause know how you feel—
do you, or are you pillared salt? They’ve got
you covered. Let go my hand now, and give
your heart to pure abundancy. You’re free
to recreate Bab-El’s society.


© Elaine Stirling, 2013
—painting of “The Pleiades” by
Elihu Vedder, 1885