Here is a very unfinished poem for day 13. I spent most of the evening decorating a prop Necronomicon, so unfortunately, I didn’t have a ton of writing time! Just normal evening activities. SUMMONING MARGARET So there you go again – dying all […]
Month: November 2017
We weren’t raised
on scythes and needles
though we sometimes dreamt
of Death in elf-toed shoes,
lazing around the city streets,
playing dodgeball with dusty
happy children. Why
do we have so many questions
pulsing in us like heartbeats?
I am only the sister of Destiny,
who liked to steal my dolls
to cut their long golden hairs.
I don’t believe in sharing eyeballs.
We made a pact – let’s fill
an hourglass with our ashes
and always run out of time.
Truth be told, we’d rather live
forever. Truth be told, we’ve never
been more alive.
Day 8! Inspired by a recent trip to the MFA in Boston and their amazing Takashi Murakami exhibition.
Murakami at the MFA
In 24 hours, I can paint your dragon
red – see? – reflected in the shining,
low-reclining Buddha with a thousand
wide-mouth flower smiles lying all
around us, superflat. Do you grimace?
Have you learned to love your mutants yet?
Throw your back out climbing tiny
ceramic rainbows to the moon but
can we get there? Can we pull our roots
through the lens of time and farm us
something fresh? If you leave them,
do they fester? If you love them,
do they find you? Have you ever felt
a hot and glistening breath like
lineage on your neck? And then
(you see!) my whirlwinds wind
my eyes like cloud-specks over every city,
and then you gasp in all the blooming
cardinal directions, and then you bring your
hands to mine, and then in bleating blasts of
color, and we call the Earth to witness.
Day 5 and things are already getting wacky. This poem was inspired by paging through some Frederik Pohl short stories and a Nietzsche compilation (two books randomly pulled from my bookshelf).
LOVE AND WASTE NO MORE TIME
says everyone dead, but they never do convince us.
My cheeks aglow like the Venusian summer — come
stand with me in all this precious sunlight, caterwauling,
astonished. Good morning and now may I have the marmalade?
I have forgotten time. You stare suspiciously.
This is nice as pie, why, what delightfully impudent mammals
we are! Being nibbled to death by our nobler guilt
and 800 degrees in the shade. When did we leave the house?
When the wind blew in those aromatic reminders of our mortality,
of course, yes, your cheerful blue eyes and your wake-up needle.
Consequently, none of this is conclusive and yet —
what prudent man would write a single honest word about himself?
All of our heroes are liars, full of divine malice.
Let’s cut them apart and clothe ourselves in their better natures.