R-R-Really

On this day, 5 years ago I was already thinking of you.
For a month I'd been. 5 years counting, true.
Rain days in our southern forest, smoke hued sunlight, one umbrella hun,
these days will always remind me of you, what I wanted to do,
Now they remind that every time we speak
New hate rolls off your lips like honey acid in my ear,
I'd be deaf if I could listen but instead I hear:

"days go by and still I think of you. days when I could have lived my life"
I think of you on days that end, and don't end in any particular way.
I think of you as I share my food, a butter, a bread, a bubble, a seed.
You're in every song and film I've ever seen
And in the cologne of men who read
and in all the eyes of sad strangers, your legs walk away and you're in the dancers,
your laugh scoffs the architecture of other cancers.... "days go by" but I don't feel them leave.

Keep Your Eyes Open

Last night was fun. I spent more of it discussing vampires than I'd expected. I can't reveal details of this conversation, but I can say that a friend of mine is planning to write a pretty cool story about vampires, and you should keep your eyes open.

I also learned of Lamia, who seems to have semi-stolen my name. CHILDREN-EATER. it All makes the sense now.

“Lamia!” he shriek’d; and nothing but the shriek
With its sad echo did the silence break.
“Begone, foul dream!” he cried, gazing again
In the bride’s face, where now no azure vein
Wander’d on fair-spaced temples; no soft bloom
Misted the cheek; no passion to illume
The deep-recessed vision:—-all was blight;
Lamia, no longer fair, there sat a deadly white.

Regrets

I wasn't writing enough.

I wish I had this magazine.

It is no longer in publication.

I wrote enough to make up for.

And now I want to take it down.

Je n'écris pas assez.

Je veux cette revue.

Il pas est plus publié.

J'ai écri plus pour compenser.

Et maintenant, je veux l'enlever.

Medusa Belladi

An utter Gorgon, Saturday night.
Unattractive, unsightly, a fright.
Ten snakes counteract every belly shake.
They rattle as I dance.
Bitter snakes eschew romance.
Loath to bite, though they loathe the sight
of the pitiful suitors' prance.


copyright M. E., April 13 2009, all rights reserved

Uncertainty

as an undefined quality
as a process toward
becoming peacefully

as release sans expectation of containment
deeply resounding the reverberate canyons
of stomach of lungs of fingers quivering

absorption into trust
rejoicing in the untamed
waking to the sleepless