A Stream of Thoughts While Listening to Black Magic Woman

I dream in multiples. I wake each time unmoving,
with the same energy and sweat from the last one.
I come out wearing the stench of them all as if they were my clothes, but clothes
are for keeping what’s yours to yourself; my dreams are for everyone to witness.

Santana plays on my turntables
and I keep thinking about what I would be like if I were born without feet.
Could I still dance as if I had the power to wake mother earth, shivering with excitement?
Would I jump and prance
on the steps of Gods house reaching for them
to catch me in their palms?
Could I walk across southern dirt roads to find my tribe
wearing smoke, dressed in velvet and lace?
Will I find the courage to join them as they tremble in ecstasy
created from the vibrations of drum beats and the wizards electric guitar?

I dream like this, with every sense entering me.
Sometimes they smell like blood, other times I smell fire
and come out smooth as black obsidian.
Mantras leave my lips in the form spells that taste of salt, but heal like rose water.
I’ve learned that there is no difference in black or white magic,
I am shaped in both the light and the dark. I have formed out of, into, and back around within
the light and dark. I am not human here, I am flawless.

Santana plays, on and on. In this moment I’m shifting into an illusion
birthed in psychedelic dimensions of my dreams.
I am the third eye pressing gently on your crown
setting sparks as spirits


Patience Hopkins is a graduate from the University of South Florida with her BA in English/Creative Writing. She has written most of her life; her lyrical writing consists of her love for women and her dreams. Patience now resides in Tampa, Florida where she is preschool teacher and tutor during the days when she is not always in her head.