When it is day, I do not recognize
this land. We live on
moonlit love and hard water
soaked in oak barrels.
When sunlight takes over
this land, I do not recognize
his hands that
lay me to rest with Strigiformes
and kiss my skin to death
his voice blurs my vision
when it is day, he is
not him
he is a reflection of a
fermented sea I drown in
every night,
when I swim away from this
foreign land I live on.
These finger links
of mine, no longer grow
but,
oh, how they grind!
I shift
puff-puff
skeleton knots, dis-locating
invisible wounds.
Morning is a stiff time. I am a scroll,
unrolling myself from
sleep ooze
and
itch,
useless cramped squares
stand
on trial for invisible crimes,
charged
with betrayal,
laziness,
deceit.
Tender body cage, must be fallacious!
What a disease!
What a nuisance I have grown to be,
with invisible
torment,
a foggy fever.
My skin understands my body bag antics!
It attempts detachment from me,
wants no part of
a
walking, breathing lie!
Slight touch sends the annoyed body film
into
fit – a raging, burning, frenzy
reaching for a
fool’s
exit.
Worried and choked,
we tizzy,
we taut,
my bright, red, rot skin
and me
deciding that our womb blood
has been chasing us
since our
original
birthday, trying to swim fast enough to
catch up with our skepticism.
Still vernal, but
not enough. We follow, we follow
heredity’s footsteps
into a great chronic abyss.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 