Janus

By doorways and walls, I pass through
with two faces. I am honoured
and assassinated by fruits and
seeds of the people.

They move their lips, I hear deep shrills.
They whisper like big cannons
at battle. I keep each as a sacred
stone; I throw each as a poisonous tale.

Today, God loves my motion. I merge with
Galileo under seven planets
I am his Dialogue on the Ebb and Flow of the Sea.

But tomorrow will take me suspiciously.
Medusa will come to show
the bogus end of Venus and her beautiful phase.

White weasels come in pack, they smell her
insidiousness; she sits coy on my tongue
while I am categorized.

Back to square rooms, black chairs,
flat carpet,
doorways,
walls,
I pass through with two faces.
I am honoured by amber vials,
assassinated by the pills.

They move their lips,
I hear fuzziness and laughter…
quit laughing at me
quit laughing at me
I am a statue,
I am trapped here.

Blood – In This Moment

I know you know what I mean…..

GiveAway Winners

Hey guys.

I’ve got the winners of the chapbook drawing and the t-shirt also and I’ll be in touch with those people soon. Thank you all for participating and giving me something fun to do.

You guys are the best…I’m excited for the future and I hope you all stay with me <3

XOXOXO ~ MM

Requiem

Lindsey, in perfect fifths,
let’s shatter the veil
between worlds.

The universe is sold out,
but your bridge is precise
and the dead watch your maple
neckline

while I anesthetize myself
in words.

Your snakewood grows on dried gut,
I am glued to paper –

We are limited in time;
in stranded worlds.
Let’s shatter the veil
and bring them together.

The Sickness

The sickness is under my skin again, crawling in confusion.
Daylight screams.

It starts with the alarm clock. Night terrors, tick-talking me to sleep.

I slit your arms around me,
But why did you leave?

Your mountains are stained by
wild midnight. You’re in love with her air.

Her skin is made of cyanide, her bones, frozen and bare.

Silence stands against my bed, my tongue on splintered wood,

I bet you’d eat my carcass, if only you could. You could!!

What It’s Like To Die

The Universe tripped over sunspots, again.

Bring your bees to breakfast.  We are born over each time the coffee pot whistles.

You reach for your strings, and I, my words, and we test out late afternoon’s

empty window. You’ll have to forgive my shaky palms and I’ll forgive your noise – we’re too soon out of blue

pills to rediscover God’s crushes and cues.

Space becomes urgent in your empty t-shirt, I spill over the kitchen counter

where love with you, is walking through a dead Universe, over and over.

The End

image

Pink tissue shivers
– pins and needles -

poisonous seeds
grow like mushrooms

in stolen wombs.

Mozart marches
like I’m a
masterpiece

black and white
piano keys

I’m nothing less

than spoiled by
venomous seeds
that started me!

Whisper

Dark Mountain, whisper across
my valley, my spine.

If ever I turn like calm tide
it is toward your hot appetite,
sweating sweet pine across
empty June nights.

Blood echoes throughout
my arid river. I am twisted
in expressed wish.

Your land slides;
hands down thick mounds
of victory –

for you. For me,
you are empty;
the last trace of you drips
from the lips of
another – but where is she,

Dark Mountain, where is she?

Whiskey Breath

First greet is at seams
that thread life to life.
She blossoms fresh blue,
nervous laughter sifts through

her eyes. Not me.
I am fog thick of red rage,
a fire smoldered by hard smoke hiatus,
stoned like rolling tonic waves.

She dips her fingers down my throat,
caressed by silence – she knows me at once.
I pour myself onto her.
I tell her how I know the moon,
how I sleep with it’s chill and
am never alone.

She tells me it’s habit, like her
laugh, that I’m addicted, I’m turning
to ashes. I say, “I don’t know if you’re a ghost of
me or I’m a ghost of you.”

She swings bright over Summer where
I plant my roots, under bed sheets
and claim the Earth as our own.
She was a kingdom,
I was in ruin.

I let loose my whiskey hot breath
on her air,
she strips bare of deliberation,
dripping thirst from her soft light
and we creak together in the shadows
of sensation.

And in the mix of time and transcendence,
frost grows over my eyelids.
I am blind.
Mouth froze,
then my insides.

She hammers at me for weeks,
heaving in heavy tumor.
She begs back for the comfort of the
roots we birthed together.

Life drops wet down my cheeks,
she drapes over me
for years,
Or is it me over her?
I wish….
I want….
The seasons have stopped.
I can’t find her blue through the fog.

COUNTERPART

Gather your corn cockle and doll’s eyes,
the apple orchard’s angry.

She shoots her black seeds
down your throat,
eyes pierced through skin
to watch your veins suffocate.

I met her in September
when she was frail – my mistake -
I never knew of her spines, thorns,
and thistles.

But you knew everything of her:
her laughter,
her sentiment,
her tears….
and she hid in her orchard watching

the way I would swing from your branches;

how you picked fruit ripe from my body,

how every night you crossed midnight
twisted in my edible, red
nightshade

while her delicious Golden
nectar kept well
for the worms.

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