She wears a wet blue dress
and if you undress her
she is not vulnerable or
violated. She is a curved
and proud body;
fertile.
He is molded. He is ceramic mannequins turning sick
against the sea. Noon splits pavement and silicon swallows
in a frenzied gulp.
She is airless, something to know and fear.
When clouds steal our stars, she calls to the moon, carrying all of her love and loyalty back to shore,
while he steals her pearls
in the dark.
hold on, for dear
life, hold on,
holds on, tight
grip, white knuckles,
ripping my flimsy body
from the sea.
We are ballet together.
Strict, and flexible.
The tragedy of the sea
drips from my fingertips;
he twirls death out of me.
For years, I drifted on dead logs,
raging against a hateful water,
dipping my hands in to remember
the violent debris, floating barely
above surface.
He disagrees.
He only saw a body dance perfectly
ill-tempered, diving into
the boiling veins of the world.
His hands reached in,
not to pull me from death,
not to release me from dangerous
waves that swallowed me in
then spit me back out,
but to dance
a perfect dance
on dry desert land.
Dreams are being dreamed
in the fog, tonight
I am a wanderer. Lost
with Fish Ghost’s, sleeping
under the sea.
I have forgotten how to breathe,
not quite forgotten –
It is destiny that calls me.
Wake me up from this walking dream!
Windows here are lucid paintings, in my head
I step into acrylic gardens, abstract
daylight, fading from realism,
a genuine art.
I am not free.
The glass captures me;
a rock spirit holds me in, forced air
thick like the sea, I cannot breathe!
And dreams are being dreamed
while the fog rolls in, white cotton torment
filling my lungs, I choke on
the Ghosts of Love, Envy, and Trust
while the dreamers
sleep with safety locks on their throats.
Where do they sail off to in
their midnight ships?
To the high deserts of the moon?
To the warm geysers of the North Star?
I want to close my eyes and follow
their pretty foot prints through
Sand Man’s castle and out to rest high
on constellations.
I want to be cradled in a comfortable Mother.
I want to swallow the Milky Way
without choking on Universal Decay.
I want to dream what the sweet dreamer’s dream,
instead of sinking deep
and deeper
into the black cold of the under water.
Note keys float out
swamp leaves, slit open,
hang out by green string.
Black notes,
A, B, C, float dark nightly,
lightly
through a
new moon’s ear piece.
A mad need, I am
bad seeds
planting roots
in last years’ moon beams.
Spread eagle.
Tongue tied,
sublimely.
The serene swamp sings.
Wants me
buzzing,
dripping golden honey
with springs yellow bees.
I asked the love beat
to swim,
stark,
bare feet
jealous oak trees watching
each move
melodically down stream
whipped cream
skin
dipped in a breeze.
A wet dream
for an
old, dry oak tree.
I have no room of my own. My carpet
was eaten by a vacuum with cold, blue
eyes.
It was January when kitchen plates
shattered. My diamond party,
shattered.
My calm-moon baby,
shattered.
I took her down stairs,
three times to
the snow. We walked.
To an icy snow pond. Cold
like those eyes we left
three flights up, alone, with a balcony
and needles filled with snow.
We did not skip.
We did not hold hands.
We held breath and
walked into the pond.
I only had two hearts
because she had
one
of her own. Deep pink.
Beating on her own.
Deep.
Deeper.
Through sharp water cold.
Piercing cartilage, straight
through bone.
We gazed through crystal, an open
body,
singing laws of the nameless,
her,
freezing within me.
It is May now, plates have been cleared.
Cuts have scarred
deeper than bone. We are froze in that pond, but I have only one heart now.
I am alone.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 