Wordle #91

Even your entropy is rigid,

the lymph gurgling behind

your prostrated smile,

the admonishing aftertaste

of your subcutaneous adhesions.

Skinflint, star-caster, striptease

my thighs pulsate beneath

your extraneous gravity and what a let down,

what a climax, what a keepsake it all is.

–

The tobacco churning behind your lip,

turmeric-spiced silt sticking in your nail beds,

the subtle admonishment of your filaments

breaking me like a riding saddle.

How vile, how terrible, how irrefutable you are.

Must you control everything?

Must you crush the throats that sing?

Must I, the shameless, the purse-string, the mule-headed thief

love you, contend with you, worship the soles

of your endless retreats?

–

managed to barely get one in

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Glass House

I dance this path

Of fire with you

Blackened

By the failings

Of an incurable youth

*

Though the heart

Is pliant

My bones do not

Forgive trespass

An unmade bed

Would betray

My animal instincts

So we lie

Captive in the rage

Of a muzzled spine

*

From your sharpened tongue

I gather defect

These excuses

Like bread crumbs

Drive me back

To this house

Of dangerous angles

–

This one is 5 years old and from the catacombs of my blog. I am preparing poems for submission to The Newyorker at the moment =)

 

Wordle #85 and Writing Prompt #131 “NoEnd House Part 9″

I drown in a mutilating plexus,

My ungainly migration hardly

Worth mention but essential if

I am to escape the water

Welling up inside.

I am neither penitent nor nonchalant.

What happens within, stays within.

–

The kelp gathers in phases

First my ankles than finally

My nickle-plaited heart,

At which point I am scarcely worth

The illusion of saving.

We had a good thing going

Cagestruck and mollycoddled

We wept and wandered shamelessly

Through unwelcoming streets,

Two perfect zeros in a city of primes.

–

The melanin has gone from your eyes

And the fire from your once implacable tongue

Has found a disparaging farce in silence.

Fiercely stroking your embers I wonder

How did it every come to this?

Your tiny submersible heart clicking

Like a clutch of unattended chickens.

Tonight is a night of firsts, a night of deaths,

A night of seams torn and scars cast.

Whose pain can be quantified

And whose is beyond measure?

–

Cagestruck- to be clueless of the customs, dialect, and haunts of an unfamiliar city

For

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/11/01/writing-prompt-131-noend-house-part-9%E2%80%B3/

And

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/11/02/wordle-85-november-2-2015/

Wordle #206

My bones crawl

The spurious extraction

Of clay from collapsing flesh

Leaves me dirty, empty.

My escaping heart cracks

Under the murder of will.

–

Your crow feasts

Blood as dense as grain

Blood splintered in

The calcification of pain.

A quilt stitched of veins,

Blue-walled and intrinsic

I seep with sophistry

And criminal illusions.

–

I chase the malice

Of your open interest

And we are nothing

If not inexcusable

Nothing if not deserving

Of the ache that follows.

–

Wordle 202

Words by Brenda Warren

Your fingers knead

My might, an intrinsic sting

Just shy of pulverizing.

I dress only to hide the emptiness

Of my left breast pocket.

Old scars matted down with saliva.

Blood might not make the cannibal

But it certainly sharpens the teeth.

–

The smack of a puerile wind

All your excuses trampled

Into the dirt and once planted

I wait for the truth to begin.

There’s a cocoon within us

That holds the other fast.

–

The drive is long

Strings of conversations

Plaiting the bridge of our smiles.

This is a trip that never ends,

A club to the back of the head

Knocking the breath free

One rampage away from yesterday

We’ll kill each other, we always do.

For

Theremin

Duy Huynh

I could have forgiven transparency

A dagger thrust into the anterior

Without the conceit of friendship

But that we should pass as strangers

And that you should behave so strangely

In my presence as if to refute it

Strips my bones all curative measure

Of what use this heart if only to bleed?

Of what use these hands when tethered?

 

The decadence of my prevaricating youth

Jars me into submission

The acquisition of anxious soldiers

Defecting into subterranean sunsets

At the first sign of commencement

Pray another man’s face

Does not disguise a jaundiced interior

Pray that I do not cancel one war

Only to embellish the next

 

My soul aches as a theremin

Consciously unconscious

Your fingers steeped in my aura

Attach themselves as parapets

To sleep now is to dream vicariously

Your withering contraband

*

What a day! I had kids over all day and while Isadora was at school I baked double chocolate chip cookies for the occasion. I am so tired! The above poem has absolutely nothing to do with this except to say that I wrote it in some sort of stupor lol

Zero

Anton Semenov

A rage both impossible and irresolute

I have no credence to my favor

No leniency in which to stash my fangs

I am wronged by my own wrongness

A hypochondriac devoted to anomaly

A portrait for each asylum, a zero, a space

Essential to calculation but itself meager

 

My guilt is not simply for show

It is an occupation by which I rend

My heart as if it were a hymen

In the incidentals of a precocious terror

I am a paper moon cast in admonishment

A one-dimensional puppet leaping

From mirror to mirror in search of a face,

A visage less pained to occupy my vanity

 

Life is not an intermission

1

She is a coal miner’s daughter

Raised with the expectation

Of a stoically borne tragedy

She is the accoutrement of a cage

Clasped irrespective of occasion

I carry her, a pale, tremulous fist

Aggrieved by the imperatives of war

2

There is something inconsolable about immortality

The way it accelerates the death of all we hold dear

There is something oppressive about the sky

When it remains too long unbroken

There are storms of necessity and clouds

Full of hormonal surges and silver tinged hopes

We do not want happiness everlasting but passion

This moment full of unexpressed gratitude

Is not an intermission it is and ever will be the truth

*

This poem actually accompanies the monster post I wrote today for my other site Curious Flowers

http://curiousflowers.wordpress.com/

Which I called The Happiness Game basically it is me trying to process

Eggshells

I walk backwards across

Your fractured carapace

Blood pulsing

Behind heartsick eyes

*

There is much in you

That remains unseen

Memories knotted within

White-knuckled fists

I bate you with my tongue

But there is no sound

Capable of dissolving

Your laconic sneer

*

The air is always heavier

When your lips slide

Beneath the dimensions

Of our adjoining hearts

I follow you milk-hued

Into another maelstrom

*

Your sense of despair

Is neoteric each heartbreak

Is consummated with

Unprecedented intensity

I never manage

To arrest your fall

But sometimes

I precede you

*

I wasn’t able to find a picture that satisfied my needs. The picture I used is certainly beautiful but I had something else in mind.

Venus vs. Mars

Art By: the-surreal-arts

Her pitiless eyes

Hang from the ceiling

Like exposed light bulbs

Pendulous and accusatory

I plead simplicity

Scarifying palatable alibis

With my inconsonant grin

*

She poses in silence

Features tarnished and angular

I wrap my knuckles

Metaphorically against her chest

The wind howls contemptuously

From betwixt iron-plated ribs

*

Her ellipse is vulturine

Folded arms poetizing assault

If only her fists fell instead

Then I could wrap my arms

Around her tremulous form

And restore this wicked flame

To its rightful red

*

Some days I have trouble finding my muse and today was one of those days!