Soup

Peel back the gauze,

the mesh-work,

the skein of your vast

improbable being.

I want to see

the spaces where your pain

is still fresh,

those wounds which

are still malleable.

I want to see you

before you’ve shriveled

into a scar,

into prisms of panic

and unfinished flesh.

–

An inchoate soup simmers

on a hearth of my own design.

Into the pot I press

your inconsolable words

and your tears vague as dew.

The only way to know a man

is to consume him, piecemeal,

without the ruse of sentiment.

There can be no secrets between us

only omissions and oversights.

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Burlesque

There’s something

Erotic

In the act of putting

Pen to paper

Each word unraveling

Before the eyes

Like a burlesque dancer

Disrobing

Layer by licentious layer

Enticing lethal glimpses

Into the human mystique

Sexy little secrets

Sometimes better left

To the imagination

Zenos

Waking does not dispel
Such conventional horrors.
This shame, these secrets
Upon which I asphyxiate.
The scent of loneliness
Like a harbor
That does not anchor
The ships employed.
*
You pass into me
Assume my mannerisms
Without question of origin.
Row after row of blasphemous suits
An increasingly ill-fitting wardrobe.
A denser and less communicative core.
I step in and out of your memory
As a cicada usurps its carapace
Alone, I understand
That the only monster is fear.
*
Your eyes are unlit charcoals
A necrotic dust
That devours in dissemination.
When you look at me
I see my soul,
A suppurating hollow
Into which dead things fall.
A kiss that draws blood
And splinters of bone
As if the donor
Were only a meal.
*
Wherever the armor holds
There is sure to be a demon.
Within each closed heart
A Zenos splits its maw
With each succulent morsel
With each salt starched scale
He grows thinner, hungrier
Soon there will be nothing
Left of me to tell

For

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/01/22/tale-weavers-prompt-create-a-monster/

 

We had to create a monster and then write about it and although my entry is dark I thought this was a fabulous and unique prompt. I gave my monster a somewhat alien look because I had a frightening dream about aliens recently. I was in bed, in my room and looking out the windows as I often do. The world was out of sync it kept shifting up and down. The sun had a strange diseased appearance and was only as bright as the moon. The sky looked like it was bleeding oil and there were strange alien-like shadows in the windows/on the balcony. Entities of some sort that weren’t quite in my dimension but who had a very strong malevolent aura about them. I whispered to Sam “Have you looked outside?” and he says to me “Yes but I’m more worried about what’s at the foot of the bed.” and then I woke up. I can only say you had to be there to understand how scary it was!

 

This about how when depressed we make our world smaller and smaller

Photo Challenge #42

Arno Raphael Minkkinen

From my timorous depths,

From the sedation of terror

Behind a veil of sleep.

Those hands

Which only an anvil

Could forge

Hold without endeavor.

 

There is a hum

Whenever the minuet

Wavers in orchestration.

The gritting of teeth

Often follows

The dawning of wool.

I can be whatever you want

So long as it is not me

That you seek.

 

The epiphany

Of a petulant God,

A savior who savors

The demise of all whom

Would follow.

Such a servant

Would not serve long

If known

And we all believe,

No matter how unjustly,

That we are horrors

In our own right.

*

For

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/01/06/wave-machine-photo-challenge-42-6-january-2015/
Unrelated Update

I have had my first real day of class. My new schedule is chaotic and involves a long commute and a significant amount of standing around in the cold. I actually do have to walk quite a lot in the snow in order to get to the bus stops “When I was your age I had to walk 50 miles uphill in the snow while juggling clementines”. I can’t say I enjoyed walking along a snow covered highway at 6:30 in the morning (or waking up at 5:30 or carrying two large bags strapped to my person while dressed as the Michelin man). I don’t like walking in the dark so much and whenever a car comes I have to throw myself in the ditch because there is no real shoulder or path. There is the grumbly part of me and the adventurous part that is excited by the prospect of taking on a challenge. I don’t actually walk 50 miles btw. I am not sure how far it is but I am probably walking 2 hours through snow and rough terrain everyday. Maybe that could count for exercise or something? Anyhow I want to keep writing to my blog as often as I can but it may take me longer to respond, I have to get some practice with this new hectic routine. Sam talked to Isadora’s school and it seems they are willing to take her at odd hours (I didn’t even think schools were open at these times, her school is awesome). I have 2 days where I have to leave at 6:30 am and 2 days where I get home at 6:30 pm. My brain also has to readjust for school, I am not so quick on the uptake. Having Dyslexia I have a tremendous struggle with word order. My sentences have the right words but in the wrong places and for the life of me I can’t make sense of it. You’d think I’d be able to string  a sentence together being a writer haha

Wordle #39 “Gold”

The clock skims

My anonymous chantage,

A stilettoed ghost branding

My every scheme.

The envelope sets aloof

Misshapen and sealed

Discreet and emblematic

A stunning contradiction.

 

Beyond its sticky cervix

Your voice throbs,

Insistent as a scar

Beneath hooded eyes.

A brume of stanzas

Undresses those parts

So oft concealed

A heart, a womb, faces

Teeming in the river’s mouth.

 

A truce might silence

This rivalry.

But where is the fun in that?

In you alone I climax.

In you alone

The words gather.

Whatever alias I testify to

You manage to find

Within it a way to die,

A truth that cannot

Be shucked its fibrous cloak,

A truth more valuable than gold.

*

I decided to go back and do the one I missed during the move. My cold which had been quite mild, has gotten much worse.

Pathos

A smile like double-sided tape

She was not someone with whom

You could shed your confidences

Her lips linger too close to the ear

She has a hunger for secrets.

 

From my breast pocket she lifts

A bloodied wedge and tilts her head

Throat like a threshing machine

The mangled retelling incites mutiny

My boots rap the pavement

But hell will not have me yet.

 

Her bare anemic eye loiters

In the cleft that housed my ego

I have a knack for pathos

A way of expiring publicly

Throwing up shadows

Like a wax phallus

A way of sculpting tears

Into fetish, of immortalizing

The precise instant

Of my banishment.

 

No one ever forgets

Their first murder

(I am not the first)

And I will not go

With a hiss

Tragic but flimsy

As a child’s preposterous wish

But with a great cackle

A paroxysm of hexes

Absurd and inexcusable

I can make a cocoon of anything

Even an eyelash should suffice.

Bang!

I reveal my secrets in jest

A theatrical wink,

A loose eyelash

A smile that does not fit my face

A smile capsized in a sea

Of sucrose and brimstone.

I might never know

This stranger of whom I speak,

This mannequin

Dressed in my valuables

Wielding my name.

I could spend my whole life

Exploring the dermis

Of this pitiful creature

Weaving my maps

Constructing my ruin

Amongst meaningless conquests

But what then

Would become of my heart?

However small,

However black,

However epic its thorns

It has a need,

A very human need

It requires a touch,

A hostage,

A moment

Without the pretense

Of shade.

*

Challenging day and I ran out of time for my poem

Specter

There are a lot of things

The dead can’t do

But they can sleep at a depth

Unattainable in life.

How infinite their dreams

Those black filaments

Unwrapped stamens

Bleeding nectarious specters.

I am one of those who

Draws lines and clings

To the same nooks

To the very same crannies

Each day wheezing

Unalterable in proximity.

 

You dare ask for my secrets

They are my bones, my cells

I cannot part with them

Anymore than an oyster

Can recover from entry

These secrets which eat

Their way deeply

Into my marrow

Those cannibals

Which are greater

Even than the exchange

Of all my organs.

 

The earth maintains

Its orbit whether

Or not I am there

And I sit in the spaces

Where it has been

Where it will be

Only alighting

When it occupies

My precise coordinates

I do not care

For loneliness

But I will wait it out.

 

I have no planet

I sit in the dark

In the vacuum

Fetal and necrotic

Perhaps I am right

But better for you

That I am not

Because if I am

Then we are built

And disassembled

From identical notions.

Photo Challenge #3

Nikita Veprikov

1

A nomadic Sphinx

Painting keys into the palms

Of doubtful tenants

2

Grapevine placentas

Spewing ill-begotten wine

Into a cupboard

Of primordial secrets

Chicken

I turn the lights off

When I listen to the chorus

It’s like playing chicken

With God

*

Music is empathic

The way it presses tears

From soul threads

*

Every tender refrain

Leaves me redolent

As a newly dispensed sea

A state of saturation

That expedites purity

*

Everything I know of love

I’ve scraped

From your bones

Words rich and iron-infused

You are

The unbroken voice within

The illumination

Of a benevolent unknown

*

Not much time to write hence the disconnect between the stanzas. I am celebrating Christmas with my little family unit today and then with the in-laws tomorrow.  I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season!