Come With Me

If you have ever bit the skin
of an orange, lifting
flesh from flesh,
life from life,
you can come with me.

If you have ever sat at the wake
of death, eye-to-eye with the
giver and, or, the taker,
you can come with me.

If you have ever put your body to rest
under a sky full of the blackest of
widows,
then come with me, please.

If you have ever coasted over a
thousand scissors cutting
every corner of every thought,
then please, come.

If you have ever melted into
the sun, begging to be rooted
into the eclipse,

If you have ever swallowed a pearl,
hoping to be turned into gold

then come with me.

Where Ashes May Burn

Limp beauty drops like spiders from
silk; stars fall to their knees.
Now you understand?
My little kiss!
My little wish for after-flowers
of genocide; lush with knowing
and innocence.

Not thankless, no!
Not ignorant as much as the
narrow sister that floats
over blue bells every six years or so.
Just simple, and simply a
slow desire for Gratitude.

Question For Readers

What would you guys think about a maggiemaeijustsaythis pod cast or live talk radio?? Would you call in?
Would you be interested? Want to chat?

IT WOULD NOT BE POETRY. But could be about poetry, writing, and other topics that this blog explores.

Any and all comments would be awesome!!

Thank you!

XOXOXO

~MM

Termite

I see that one arm is stubbed
by something. No one else can see
this, like it isn’t true.
To them, I am tragedy,
and I let them.

I am a hot potato
and they drool over food.
My crippled hands shove their
mouths full of muscle.
They like it raw
and tough.
So, I give them my back bone
to gnaw on,
they snap it like baby pea stock.

I spend two years in the ground,
done with legs
and feet
and toes
and balance.
I buried myself in dirt,
living with termites.

The thing about termites that no one else can see,
is that they aren’t true. To them, we are tragedy,
and we let them.

The Sun Chases The Moon

I spend a thousand blinks on old memories.
Each taste like cocaine
broken teeth, pressing
truth against my cheek, a cold shock

like this one – 
crying on the beach, sleeping in empty sea shells.
My mother eats her hands,
choking on emptiness,
on regret –  I understand,
then –

fireflies above my nose.
Bathing with my naked sisters,
collecting our shadows full
of sea water – and with a rush of the moon
a tip of years comes rushing back
and I choke, not on emptiness
but on regret, and I understand
then –

it’s the same sun that passed away,
roasting flames with me on
Sunday; and what does He do?

He moves.

 

The Ones Not Knowing Destruction

Circling eternity and afterlife.
Look North!
Kochab and Mizar!
This is the undead; the perfect destination.

The Sky Goddess swells at Gemini then births the Sun God in the MilkyWay.

Spring devours him

at Winter he is reborn.

We will join the Northern Sky
when it is our time.
The Ghost Kings will consume
our bodies, our divine
will leave to await the sweet smell of Winter.

We will circle eternity;
the perfect destination.

In A Dream

Pig snouted soldiers strut
like heavy cannons,
over dry wild desert weeds

I tumble behind a boulder
maybe twelve or thirteen
I had not met the cycle yet
of Mother Earth and her Moon

The others slept in the madhouse
where echoes of screams
jumped from wall to wall

I tried to burn all of us down
once, melting us into a boiling
ooze where we could flow
together the right way

but she caught me and
I was sentenced to the garden
living off tomato bugs
and raw onion

This was when there was something
now it is this
desolate; sepia spotted trap.

I closed my eyes behind the giant rock
begging the shadow to suck
me into its safe home
It whispered that I was not ready
that my temples were froze

That’s when I heard their cries
mother and brother being
cooked alive
I opened my eyes and
the pig snouted soldier snatched
the dark hole from my face

I am awake.

Mappa Mundi

Mappa mundi. On my back I
sleep without mountains, or oceans,
or broken continents drifting off
in search for more.
Birds turn origami and
I am left with an echo.

Somewhere between maple rain
and God’s sweet thumb I broke
the rules.
Sand has lost all reason.
Sun has lost its meaning.
Direction is meant for the breathing…
So is matter.

Mappa mundi. Inside
I am a universe. The eye of God, on my
back, giving birth to angels with
white wings of clouds.
Thunder claps in approval
while I whistle an old echo
to the vast dark matter

that prays for existence.

Eden Aquatic

She wears a wet blue dress
and if you undress her
she is not vulnerable or
violated.  She is a curved
and proud body;
fertile.

He is molded. He is ceramic mannequins turning sick
against the sea.  Noon splits pavement and silicon swallows
in a frenzied gulp.

She is airless, something to know and fear.

When clouds steal our stars, she calls to the moon, carrying all of her love and loyalty back to shore,

while he steals her pearls
in the dark.

The Accident

Embarrassment tugs his eyes to the
left, cradling his infant courage.
He is new skin – crawling
for Jesus – drowning
in sin.

My own infant, white lipped,
sleeps like a giant next
to my hip. My blood
is metallic lead
leaking out.

The scent of iron is dark and heavy.
Mary cycles through every
woman, he reminds me.
I know. Serpents
slither – then
go.

He is the color of silence – naked eyes
following mine, stalking my quiet
like prey. His sharp honesty
brings deep claw marks
across my chest. I
still beat
life. His eyes lift,

hungry. My flesh is real,
sincerity exposed. He prays over
me, Jesus take this pain.
It was an accident, he is just.