Mag 307

cesar santos
Cesar Santos

With every stroke a chase ensues

mine is a humble opinion

a composition of unmitigated palaver.

I love all my voices, even those

that mislead and consume.

I am a woman

who merits speculation.

Both beautiful and intrinsic

I pour my light onto a wooden palate,

my curious sisters, my colors splayed

I inspire and solicit.

My hollows and curves,

my touch like the rush of nettles

I have everything to bare

and nothing to lose.

Life is haphazard and unyielding

it carries me to places unknown

my tears scald, my laughter scolds

I am female, undress me.


Photo Challenge #102 March 1, 2016


Sometimes I want to be
loved, abhorred, shamed,
at times I even surpass my resources.

I am best explored on canvas
in supple shades of red and atrophied coats of alabaster.
I am more mask than ghoul, more carnival, than epitaph.

What I have witnessed
the reduction, the deviance, the overdose
remains in my veins an inkling,
a suspicion of events that shall now and forever be.

I have met many ends but never my own,
a candle that startles without waning.
I am the anima, a mother of instincts
and deeply striated inhibitions.

I prefer my feelings raw,
the uncircumcised heart
suffocating within its own depths.

I undress in a crowded street
but beneath each veil another twice as thick.
Alone is not necessarily a virtue
for even then I am never quite myself.

Photo Challenge # 98: February 2, 2016

“Mate” by Anne Worner CC BY-SA 2.0


In the inconstant ravages of midday

I drink of your succulent greys,

of your endless repetitions.

Winning accounts for only a fraction

of our experiences, we lose everyday.

I stand here challenging my failures,

the pawn of my genius watered down.

I will not be made palatable.

I will not be made to adhere.

The only geometry worth the commute

is the human heart. Those slovenly angles

really get me going, even now

in this wrangling heat, the muse seizes hold

shaking me free of my rumpled dress.

We were young once, too young

to appreciate the distress of bones

huddled beneath orgasmic flesh.

Too young to know the intimacy

imposed by silence. I love you

in ways both innocuous and forbidden.

I’d kill for you, an oath not undertaken lightly.

We only seem casual, ordinary

but on the inside we are slicks

of versicolored gasoline, ready to ride

the circuitous waves of our ever deepening

sense of self. To truly understand life

you’ve got to jettison your identity entirely.

I will not be tagged, stacked, and sequestered

by your quadratic pretenses, the I before am

is completely unnecessary, be for nothing

else matters, not even the reward.

cutting it close time-wise barely managed a quick poem.

Photo Challenge # 96: January 19, 2016

Cell Block
Cellblock by Steve Snodgrass CC BY 2.0

My veins are shackles,
theorizing freedom though their instincts enslave.
A breath can heal, a breath can take.
An agitation of bone, a quick courteous bow.
I face my demons, fallow-roots not withstanding.
Ink dissects my woebegone stare.
Ink transcends my partitions.
The outcast re-imagined as a crusader
peace, justice what does it all mean?

I haven’t gotten my groove back yet. I am in a weird place right now.

Photo Challenge #92

Great Grandmother

(Awarded 1st Place) Great Grandmother by SFC Lance Widner – Division 1 (Active Duty Military) CC BY 2.0

When holding you I remember that I am still capable.

Though I have been wrung, plucked, and boiled

life has failed to swallow me and still manages despite

its myriad deficits to fill you up. I could regale you

with stories of gregarious shadows and hearts rent

And rendered into a version of love deeper than

the seas when placed on top of each other.

I am still in my funk sorry =(

Photo Challenge #91 and Writing Prompt #137 “The Fool”


Anne Worner “Don’t Fall In” CC BY 2.0

A cacophony of pawns and inverted innuendos,

we seek truth but revoke its passage

in deference to the ego’s exhausted scripts.

A fool is a fool whatever his age or position.

Transit never satisfies the need for escape

wherever I go distress inevitably follows.

Bags clutched, I’m always starting anew

And I haven’t learned anything save ambiguity.

luis royo_the labyrinth tarot_major arcana_the fool

I had a breakdown today. I don’t cope well with stress. Balance is elusive to the point of absurdity. The moment I feel well-enough I go full out trying to compensate for all the days I wasn’t well-enough. Sam came home from work (which is like a 40 minute drive away) to give me hug and sit with me. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry, he is so sweet. I couldn’t manage to go to Isadora’s school though, I am just too fragile/unstable. I have no idea how I am going to be this week in regards to writing, I still have things I have to do that I can’t cancel.

Photo Challenge #90 and Wordle #228

Curly Hair

I cried all night unraveling your invisible terrain.

By morning I was sober and ready to exist,

not in fractions but in pieces too large to swallow.

People rarely believe in things that they cannot

manipulate with their senses and even with belief

it is difficult living on the fringe with nothing

but one’s own friction for warmth. There is no justice

in this world, only misguided attempts at revenge.

I am sick, therefore I am culpable, and incapable of truth.

Some people beg because they live in a state of necessity

because they are desperate to recover whether or not

their flight patterns match the current patterns of migration.

There are files with my name on it that I have never read

and never will read. I imagine they are filled with words like

“dramatic” “ liar” “hypochondriac” “woman” and perhaps

those words pertain to me, perhaps they even oppose me.

I rake my fingers through your brutal black coattails

always following never entreating, an afterthought,

flickering in and out of conception. Against you,

the lover, I cannot win but against you, the enemy, I already have.

I lace my guitar with your entrails and my boots with your soul.

There is a weakness  in normalcy that we never speak of.

A fanaticism constructed and construed by ingratiating fear.


I am so distracted today. I have an important meeting on Wednesday and a case of crazy head. I don’t feel this is finished or coherent yet but I ran out of time.


Photo Challenge #89 and Wordle #227

Mannequins for Peace

image by Anne Worner “Peace” CC BY-SA 2.0

The river has wings
though she prefers
to stay inside her respective lanes
for fear that flight might
compromise her volatile contents.

My world weighs about 8 oz
but within her I am free.
The naked, red plains
somersault in moments of clarity,
Moments that cannot be extracted
from the mania of passing crowds.

I was not ready for my first failure
and every one that follows has a newness
about it that defies explanation, like love.
Peace requires dissent but violence
and paranoia are capable only of illusion.
If you want something, you have to accept
the challenge with every stalk
of your indispensable, irreplaceable being.


Photo Challenge # 88 and Wordle #226

Nelson L Shadow

Nelson L “shadows will always follow us” CC BY 2.0

An unholy tide drifts

Through avenues of mist and flesh.

Wherever the abyss falls

I am certain to pass,

Hidden in the grooves

Of an elongated muse.

I cannot divine her words,

For my shadow’s voice

Elicits no sound.

An apothecary of light

And mediocre illusion

We are only just beginning.

My secrets untouched

I might be perfect in the eyes

Of a man who adores me

But I will never be tame.

She, on the hand, follows me

Quick as I please

Through barriers biased.