two honey bees scribble
across Rupi’s milk
her tragic black paperback
blooms
on a blank kitchenette
empty plastic cup
waiting for a purpose
I tell it
“go”
but who am I to
say anything
Rupi says it all
if her grace has been missed
you should find it
gather up her past
in her shadow
and twist it
into purple origami
for me to dry
each drop
that falls because
of ways men
have touched her
Your rage is inverted
a past and a storm
mixing, a cocktail
spiked by Her laughter
_____
a stork blocks Heaven from
any chance of Me
the courts
are eternal in
God’s eyes
so I am the sea now
I am green and
unstable
______
We move in calm procession
a block steadies our
thoughts – Her glass, Her great
fish jaws, and soon We are
lanterns floating high-tide
by every way the Earth breathes
We should meet with dead
shoulders, shrugged
off Each Other
______
I follow beauty like
a shadow, I live
miraculously hollow
waiting on lies
laying on My altar
______
You question every raw answer
a priest walking on
water, take My meteor!
Eat it.
Your world might
multiply if We feed it.
_____
We are Mighty brave
in a rotten state, two Wretches
hard-boiled,
crawling on the surface
They can’t see us as ants –
take my hair off
fate grudges
the snakes are coming
______
I have lost My ending
You beg cold against
the same heat in Hell
I ran away from
What are We then?
We chance ourselves
to nothing –
He crosses Seven
times despite
the waves of Our Ocean
_____
Let’s leave Him to His handsome
His misery is His to drown in
a moment like that
like this
is crucial
lightning strikes,
dry heat
radiation
takes place
of
the sweet kiss
on my cold shoulder
I find seconds
in days
that last
forever waiting
to speak
whisper even
because tragedy
has hands
that rip through
this soul
this particular soul
that sleeps
like a demon
in benediction
that opens a
bloodshot
mouth
in his direction –
even the desert would
freeze over
if it knew him
thick wind has come back
I’m under attack
take my heart back
black thunder
rips across the land
the sky’s dry
tri-tip
frying like I
fingertips split black
powder
sit back
venom drips down my throat
I spit back
a damned sky cracks
white lightning flash
backs
words clash so fast
blast from the past
a knife
and a shadow
a ghost
in the past tense
I can see through
me and you
quicksand
compact
a solid path
blood bath
peel me apart
I’m see through
deep deep breath
fuck you
Here. I am black echo ash.
Resin. The aftermath.
Always, the beginning is fresh.
Sweet cream masked – naked
baby’s breath awakening
to the first day.
I close my eyes to find it.
Seven minutes –
heaven is just beneath
his collar.
One breath, we melt forever
bonded; a rush, a plunge,
a distance without measure.
Instigator. I break as quick
as silver, my tongue –
an anxious alligator.
He snakes back to a shadow.
Strike a fire, burn
his path to follow.
Catch on flames, catch the blue.
Beginnings start out hollow.
Torch the love, torch the pain
leave me with the echo.
There is a leak in the Earth,
quietly letting mercy slip
out,
unnoticed.
Ashes sprout in Spring’s fresh
mouth – her lungs
blacken with ferocity,
a dark mother clouds the sky
of an innocent,
a soft snow lays silent,
begging the earth to warm;
a quick suicide.
Her arms cradle his delicate
voice, she is moon craters
and crackling fire embers,
an Earth of her own.
Heavy waves of blood crash through
a golden heart,
blue eyes sicken and he cries.
Her own waves say goodbye –
and the Earth opens one more time.
inch of time spent over the sea,
dragging your dead body back
from the sharks I fed you to.
There should be enough salt
to drown in. Now that is something
you don’t hear of!
But, I have heard of Buddha,
and Ghandi,
and what great advice for the
blonde girls in white dresses,
not scratched by hands of
light drinking, or hard gunfire;
the girls untouched by
living a dead life, waking under floorboards
built by their mothers.
Your heavy photograph burns to
my tongue. I spit. I curse you out
of your newly dried grave.
I am ecstatic for your corpse,
it grows on me like tough leather.
Now for her.
I carry a monsoon to her driveway.
She is lit up. A bright pumpkin
ripened for plummet.
She dresses in honeysuckle,
and flickers like whiskey.
I haven’t thought of her name,
she is black as a canvas; a new galaxy
before energy matters.
If her heart happens to
do that, I will carve it out.
I will take it back to July in my teeth
where the desert is waiting for me,
it’s Queen.
Old memories of Paris, café au latte,
iron wrought on a kitchen sink
where she slimmed her figure
on a butcher block.
She dangled like a wind chime,
toes on pointe,
testing the winds and
the Gods on
Wisdom of Love.
Pretty little music box, my doll,
bathing in sunlight
through reflections of The Tower at
dawn. I asked her what she saw.
Her answer was as black as a widow
living off space between sun flower seeds.
I turned to her soul and spoke
to her in cotton,
she understood,
souls always understand what is next,
and why.
I led her to confession.
She rattled all the way,
dangling eight unworthy legs –
shooting silk like
it meant nothing,
because that is all she had ever known.
By sunset, she had dried up.
Everything that she had devoured
had taken over
and spit her spirit out.
This desert is muddy today,
rats scamper under fury.
Little girls chew
off November toes. They kneel in provocation, stretched t-shirt
over back yard fences.
Dogs bark like bitches, I count them – they live free
with dirty kneecaps, laughing at me. It is fair, I know.
It’s the clock,
just; disgusting me.
The rats scurry down wet streets
where my sister plays with
spores. I stalk her like cat play
while she plucks
lice from her
eyes.
Her nudity is a familiar tub
where streetlights meet
sloppy abortionists.
Once, she was me. We shared
charcoal milkshakes and
flirted with shapes of sour
angels. Now, great love,
is dust of dead skin.
She is piles of vomit under
cloistered stubbornness.
In twenty years, I will be solid.
Midnight will dream of my desert
and sick rats walking in
late, chasing yellow
mold across tarred gutters
where her soul growls empty,
nothing to spare.
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!!
maggiemaeijustsaythis 