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.
Tell me something. As I lay next to my sick sister
in silk, unbalanced; give me an offering.
I burn for truth, for the ignorant man
to bare his torment,
to tell me my body is useless,
to hold me as a black fish stripped of possibility
and soak me in architecture.
Make me into something better than two.
I have been a ruined kingdom
for over an hour. My bed is an ash tray.
My bones are hot with need.
Where is your urgency?
Where is your greed?
Catch my empty hand…save me!!!
Give me something sharp to believe in.
My name is a vicious mirror at a stand off.
I catch my sick sister without her gown,
as naked as the night,
a rough sling shot aiming for the key hole.
She is the lie trembling in my doorway,
the life I cannot live.
We have no place, not now!
Her knees are bruised and I am her salve.
I, her freedom.
She, my prison.
Tell me something to help me
burn this sick girl out of my skin,
to gather my ashes and make me one again.
Sunlight spills out over the sky
and I watch the women dance,
strings from Heaven attached to each limb,
red lips painted with French curls,
I love them so much.
I loathe them so much.
They lift off the ground with majestic beauty,
gliding from toe to toe.
They seem to sleep on clouds,
pretty ballerinas that Pas
around town.
In the library, they seat quiet children
who are stainless and educated from
high value,
they swim in holy water with
moulded figures sticking out and I drool
along with the men,
and I love them so much.
Oh! I loathe them so much.
They fall like pink snowflakes,
kissed with Latter Day sprinkles,
the daughters of God who walk on Earth
next to me, searching for my palms,
serving me with the grace that Sunday could bring
but I will not listen.
I cannot.
My ears have been cut from my head by
Van Gogh’s paint strokes,
Mozart is pounding his fingers against my
chest in C-Minor, and
all of the words that have ever been written
by limbless men
and lipless women
sing as a group of cellos,
rooted deep in my naval,
where I began.
It is at this dark hour,
it is at this inferno,
it is in this block of rage
that I notice how stale I have become.
I am cracking,
in every fold of my skin and
in each dry bend of my skinny bones,
I become mosaic.
I did not read life properly, I think.
Big doors slammed on my little fingers
so many times and even
though they broke and ached,
I made them wrap themselves around
heavy door knobs and
step beyond explanation.
What is to understand?
Skies are a warning. Wind is creation.
We stirred life up together.
What is to understand?
Age is a gift and a curse.
The past sings me to sleep in
rough fusion, a symphony of screams
that shred my nights out before me.
I remember when she stood in front of the mirror,
red lips pursed deeply at my innocence and
my tremor. She terrified me more than
the thunder that rattled the world outside.
I chose the storms over her natured arms,
but I did not understand. I read her
wrinkles and her pores
and her treacherous explosions
as if they were life,
and now I have age to help me read,
but I am too old to understand.
My body is cracking under misunderstandings
and exposure.
I want the bright day back that I found
when I ran barefoot over boulders,
before boulders fell on top of the four
chambers of my life.
I want what was taken from me by the
thick chalk of her pursed lips.
Cryptic House of Knowledge,
I stroll,
I shift around your
halls – the deep and starving
space – hungry for
ambiguity and definition!
Where is the edible material hidden?
Do you have a frozen room
where you store it for keep?
Not frantic, but fixed!!
I want!
I need!
I am fierce on my knees….
I beg
Give me what I seek!!!
A deep rumbling vibration rips through the floor, knocking me from
my roots. I hear my bones crunch and snap as I hit
the concrete.
The House answers. It is evident. Strong.
The rumbling becomes deeper. It is here!
I roll against a wall, for
a seeker has no haven.
The building ripples and rips,
the walls shred
and crumble around me.
I am still.
I watch as a cyclone tears down the
structure that protects me, ripping through cement
and stone
destroying all that I had known.
The outside light came pouring in and
I am exposed!!
The cyclone stopped in its spot,
turned, it found me.
My frightened frame could do nothing.
The heart could not beat.
The lungs could not breathe.
My body and I just sat in fear….
The twisting tornado did not move
from its place, but
targeted my eyes,
smiled
and I understood!
maggiemaeijustsaythis 