This summer she's indulging in equilibrium;
letting power pool around her,
certain that, when the ripples subside,
some psychic coriolis force
will start to swirl around her center.
She's been studying secrecy
--not secrets, but the keeping of secrets;
the talking-around-a-subject
that sends a searcher spiraling in deeper
from truth to truth.
She has twisted the texts of her spells
into polyalphabetic cryptograms.
She has charged the cells of her Vigenere square
and tangled her incantations
to work up a whole new ritual.
Tonight she'll climb the Kundalini Fire Escape,
a fountain of force writhing up her spine.
She will dissolve this twisted magnificence
with a jolt of regenerative chaos
to send a shockwave of arcana into the world.
That transubstantiation of impulse
will randomize nastiness and purify our urges.
She wants to encipher scorn so well
that not even the most irrational cryptanalyst
can unscramble it.
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