When The Fire Burns

I haven’t drank you for an hour,
or swallowed the sharks
swimming in your pale
manhood.
The road gobbled me up and
I do not miss your cancerous tongue,
all I smell is rubber
and all I want is the moon
to take me to bed
where I know what lives under
the sheets.

I know the blank ceiling page
and the rotation of the clouds,
I know how I cycle down,
a tornado scripture
burning my steeple to ash.

I translate you into languages unknown,
too complex for me to read,
the devil’s tongue,
a serpents spit,
a good muse when the fire rumbles
me to numbness.

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5 thoughts on “When The Fire Burns

  1. Maggie, you’re going to have to put these into a book so that I can read them often – there is always so much meaning layered into your poems ; so much expression. Even after my third read, I keep seeing more depth… Wow!

    1. Hey Rob! Im working on a collection πŸ™‚ I’m Sooooo happy that you enjoy them! Really! Thank you for telling me.

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