Change Come to Kingdom Come

What if you noticed every

day that I am a little closer

 

to over?  What if you looked

at me, instead of past my flesh

 

as if I were just a ghost of a person

you once knew?  What if you saw

 

how authentic the maps of neurotransmitters

in my head are?  Would you, could you care?  There’s none

 

but ourselves facing each breath

till the last.  I am dissatisfied with these things

 

I see.  After speaking, Mama folds

herself into an origami crane leaving all the Gods

 

to question their own existence.
Advertisements

Swells of Juices

Her heart was                                      a pomegranate.  The seeds

picked out one                                    by one to be

 

 

devoured.  In her                                 chest a birdcage with the clipped

wings of a crushed angel.  Here         they will stay

locked safe and sound

 

from the horrors                                 this earth offers.

Everyone knows the Glory Box

I always carry my box of broken bits

~~~~~~~~~~~with me deep, trembling  inside

my own glory-hole, black hole, rabbit hole

 

where sensations send trembles cylindrical

flushing down spines arched in your ecstatic breath.

This is Water, This is Woman, This is Nameless

She stands single legged, left

foot firmly planted on a floating

 

comet somewhere between

the stars and the mind: a statue of herself.  Her back

 

arched like a great orb of oblivion with her right

foot gently resting

 

on the back of her head.  He stares.  Her image too human

to be God, but not human at all.  As his gaze adjusts around

 

the angles and geometry of her skin—smooth but still reptilian

in nature.  A woman chameleon who gives voice to the voiceless

 

without tonguing sound radiates from the delicate

form of a wasted waif angel with clipped wings

 

in waves of hertz.    Poseidon knows nothing

of the likes of this creature who creates the myths of God’s. He hears her

 

colors drip, drip, drip down the canvas of some iconic painting

down the drywall of a decaying building.  This isn’t just other worldly

 

shit, it’s tangible, real.  “You know I wrote the Word of all of you Gods

into existence.  I don’t avert my eyes from real

 

things I see.  You have taken too much life, so I’m here to give it back

to Man-kind.”  Her grey, blue, green, outline of iris fills with salt

 

from all of the oceans on Earth to weep life back into existence

starting with a single molecule of fresh clean water.

Mother: maker of myth.