Ether

Magnolia’s rattle to the North,
an odor I’ve never known
before now.
I have no lover to scoop
eyes from for warmth,
no body or bones
to mix together and boil for
nourishment.

Silence is a tough fog,
golden; triumphant;
whispers like a noose.
She is a smooth, naked
flamingo waiting in the Ocean.

We will travel together, like apples
ripening throughout the season.
We will be sisters
by blood,
by grace,
by moonlight.

And all the stories I tell you
now will be flat
as skin, my words will prune up
and the golden knife of silence will
slice the truth out.

Marinated Chops

Oh, God!

I woke up sizzling!
Left rear range,

chopped up,
marinated and lubricated,

giant
hands of circumstance
thrashing
me around gridiron with prickly
fingered sticks,

boneless.

Without hands to reach out
to the other pieces
frying,
roasting inches away from me.

Skinless.
Heartless.
Helpless.
Hopeless.

Left lonely with chunks of
thick bloody substance that
I was delivered with,

the delicate meat
that
made me whole,

without a mouth to
vocalize
my own company.

I miss them already!

The heat is getting heavy, I have
been left
simmering
since
sun progression – damn light!

Waking me up
to this!