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.
This desert is muddy today,
rats scamper under fury.
Little girls chew
off November toes. They kneel in provocation, stretched t-shirt
over back yard fences.
Dogs bark like bitches, I count them – they live free
with dirty kneecaps, laughing at me. It is fair, I know.
It’s the clock,
just; disgusting me.
The rats scurry down wet streets
where my sister plays with
spores. I stalk her like cat play
while she plucks
lice from her
eyes.
Her nudity is a familiar tub
where streetlights meet
sloppy abortionists.
Once, she was me. We shared
charcoal milkshakes and
flirted with shapes of sour
angels. Now, great love,
is dust of dead skin.
She is piles of vomit under
cloistered stubbornness.
In twenty years, I will be solid.
Midnight will dream of my desert
and sick rats walking in
late, chasing yellow
mold across tarred gutters
where her soul growls empty,
nothing to spare.
and then they left their home,
one by one, the salty fluid pouring
into each other, God called
down to Margaret that morning;
“I know spaces between stones,
that, years ago, repressed me.
A harp was broken by an angel,
and now you shall go empty.”
Drums beat wild; a spell of evils
cast up from Hell’s almighty.
Can I exist, just as this?
A nightmare in a body?
I was given a black trail,
a tricycle, and blindly
left my post beneath the drums
to find captivity.
I listened from a noisy Inn
near the Mighty Mississippi,
its waters shook all voice
and took it selfishly.
So, I went, to a purple mountain,
to visit Mighty Oak Trees,
but my tears tried to drown
me there, drip, drip, dripping.
Heaven became worth it when
I had realized it hardly,
every stone and every man
awaited hardening,
I sat in line, in silence
with them, picking at my knees,
when fire grabbed a child’s limb
and she screamed in agony.
I found that I was not an
Angel, the devil had been dwelling
in wine and liquor and
my heart had, all this time, been failing.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 