When a shadow slips black,
deep in the background,
steep in the sleek sound of
cricket wings leaking,
singing six feet – under
lock and key.
You don’t need to understand me,
the hardness that backhanded me.
the stillness wrapped tight around.
My swan! Feathers spread for what?
Not flight! Grace treads light
enough, we fight.
No words. Just wings, singing
for the shadow, deep in the back
ground, the Warrior’s Echo.
Black ink dries on hard paper,
truth has made me guilty.
Speak softly to me!
A kind message?
Sublingual peace?
Abuse me with gentleness,
please!
Death is not deep.
To be fair,
this blush,
this young sigh,
this surface, it is all false.
Clocks speak with the sun;
patterns that change me.
I am Heaven.
I am Earth.
I whisper ‘farewell’.
I trade it all for instruction,
and the day goes,
consistently, then
brings me back again,
in ruin.
Life and Death. Undivided.
I wish for a different fight.
With fire or the sea,
a fair trade,
both worthy opponents.
I can obey their rules,
succumb to each,
their own authority,
yet, I am not standing inside flames.
I am not drenched in waves of the sea.
I am wrestling with ink,
a low, clear friend,
an enemy I would save,
a hard lover keeping me freely.
I am armed in my own silence,
wrapped in God’s skin,
and the words,
all the incriminating words are
seeping in.
Sweet songbird
hush youthful ignorance
chase fresh posture
under beds, where Monsters lay
in puddles of anticipation
crawl after
force into arms of
battle
songbird lullaby, my only weapon
whistle familiar tunes
bread crumbs
to
bring battled body back
should Monsters
find amusement
Sweet female
origin of song,
eject me from your womb
pass me to nature
instincts grow
fight vs. flight
both
Dear friends
who
cannot
abandon,
they ARE the natural teacher.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 