Fountain Of Confessions On Amazon

Fountain Of Confessions

Fountain Of Confessions is now available on Amazon and Amazon Kindle. I look forward to hearing any feedback on it. Thank you so much!

Fountain Of Confessions

Hi Everyone!!

My 2nd book, Fountain Of Confessions, is going to be available through Amazon this week. I am so excited to share it with you. I am going through my emails for reviewers and getting in touch with some of you if you are still available.

If you’d like to do a review to post on your blog, I will be happy to send you an e-copy of the new book.

Thank you all so much for being here. Some of you have been here since the time I started this blog nearly 4 years ago!!!

I’ll be posting soon. Until then….

XOXOXO ~ MM

Center Of Time

Welcome home, a strawberry plant
grows out back
for you, but it
has twisted to fingernails
to scratch away the bugs.

It has a heart, ready for transplant.
I promised to die,
I admit, I’m in the habit,
but it just sat in one spot,
sucking on water cells

reminding me what it
would feel like to overheat.
Now you are here, hiding in
the desert, my fruit not fertile
enough for you
to eat.

So, you say it’s the center of time,
one hand holds it,
the other says good-bye.

This Sickness

Sickness comes at interludes, when
light burns brighter than
sun stars, when Anger dashes in
to catch the aftermath.

We battle for the scenery.
Touching base, both reaching for
the flag, for proclamation.

It is mine. This sickness is mine
to water or see to wilt.
I find no fault in either,
both are stars of polar regions,

imploding a billion light years away
from me. I will awake with sweaty palms,
the enemy dripping down my back.

I sit in the night, like a sauna,
saluting the grace of the Gods
for keeping what is meant for the skies
quietly away from these hands.

My medicine will come clockwise, sneaking up
on me, on little twinkling toes.
I never miss this time because there is no
better place to live or to die.

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.

 

Oh

Oh, dear Satan, your delicious
merchandise finds me
tender.

I am a raw sunflower gasping for
clean air, for rare light
to open my thin arms
and feed my beginning.

I could be a generous gift,
a miracle fragrance in the breeze
of a season,
but I was stomped deep
in the Earth, fed on by worms
before I knew how to dream.

When dreams slipped in to my feeble
stem, they were
manipulated, filling my roots with
poison.
Now, I sleep with deadly seeds
growing in my brain, too weak to survive
cold seasons,
surrendering to dark demons, until
spring brings back
the warm light of hope.

It’s Not December Anymore

Your good beauty is suffering
on my nightstand. Here, you are
gray sand; a sleeping portrait
framed for mortality, unworthy
of a name.

I miss that one sunset. I gathered you
after the rain;
a bouquet of loose eyes
and tight words. My hair curled
around my face.
I watched you watch the sun
burst around my pupils
and we both wanted…

Then,
you were distinct like
wet leaves crushed under our feet,
like stained lips’ plumb kiss.
Silent admissions were made
under our spirited breath.
I inhaled for
you, exhaled for…

I did you no wrong.

We made storms that carved
time and
broke wind chimes.
I painted your hands over mine,
then erased them.
You gave up.

Since,
seasons have exchanged
heated glances; volcanic disregard
erupted from our mouths, but
there were not words,

and silence could have been generous,
but it was not. Not
to you,
nor to I.

That season has come back and I feel
the sunset waiting,
time has dug a cave in
new clouds.
I am silent no more,
my voice is a proud thunder

I am waiting for you!

The Twins

I have been brought a morning in bed,
yellow hands expand my eyes.
I rise as a vulture,
slender billed, nut beaked,
baking for a sun day.
The night salted me; an open wound,

the darkness delivered my twins.
She was duplicated, the little girl,
the golden daughter of heroin and hope,
she was on ice,
waiting for me, to grow.

It was a discrete joy, a time to prevent
a murdered life, to create
an identical heaven.
This time, she was mine.

But, the golden splatter was received
as the sun rose above
shadow boxes, as my blemished hands
become liver,

and we yellowed.
With tattered feathers, “we”
became “I”.
No duplication.
No sweet, heavenly replication
waiting for me, to grow.

Your Darkness

Are you just out of mind? Or have
you lost bed, too?
I’ll lay you down with straw and
help catch your rogue.

The passage to sleep
is in a cottage, as bare
as birthed privates, down a
cottaged street. The seeker has treats
in that darkness! The darkness
where we meet.

You collected loneliness
in places that I jog in. I
watched you paint,
I watched you slice your flesh
with window,
I watched you crawl under his
sheets at night, to
ward off  the darkness.

Still it comes, a happy thief,
painted like a victim,
no matter your age, it never will
outgrow you.
Though, your flowers bloom and
your pumpkins grow,
though you scrub light into
your palms,
it never will outgrow you.

I taught you a language, a long time ago, a
protection from the shadows,
before sun marked your
pale skin,
before your lips touched a sugar breast,
you were my garden,
you were my flower;
a light, all of your own, to light your darkness.

I Was Born To A Gray World

I was born to a gray world.
Void of sunlight.
Barricaded by ice.
Hunters have come for me. I watched them
gobble up
sisters, a brother,
and the woman who birthed me.

I stayed, under rocks, under dirt,
for sixteen years. I washed myself
in sin,
couldn’t come clean.
Stained with nights that smothered me
in the devils
chest hairs.

My hair grew to the length of
a woman. Sweeping me
out from
the dirt, standing me on
one foot,
then two.

Then, my breasts grew,
not much larger,
but wiser!

For some time, I lived out
dull
nightmares.
Screaming in sleep.
Silent during the dull day.
Grinding coffee beans
with quiet grips of rage.

I sliced each strand of woman from
my head,
became a man. I cut tears out of my arms
till I forgot how to
cry,
smashed my head heavy till
I forgot
everything else…

except that the world is gray.

My hair has grown back out
to the size of a woman
and my breasts haven’t grown
anything but heavy,
in a heavy body,
in a heavy gray body.