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Lovesick

Lovesick

 

Maria Morisot

 

Published by Moan Lisa Press at Shakespir

 

Copyright © Maria Morisot 2015

It displays more

time than

I am able

and to

realize my lightning’s

path where

gods have tread;

fountains spurt

their heavenly hymns

with naked

babies

grasping at their

swords.

 

I’ve spilled my

guts

and made

a series of

violent gestures;

with my poor

beaten and

broken heart as

it hums,

“hallelujah!”

Into the ether

of a world

unborn.

Intransient bisexual

urges to admire

the concrete

advent of the

mire’s last dance;

motion sickness

carries me under,

beneath the tidal

 

Wash. We begin

again, stampeding

horses, violently

assaulting the winter’s

hush.

You are imperial

personae; flattened

glass waiting for

its skin to crack.

 

Sliver, sliver,

don’t cry. I

was watching

you, through the

looking glass;

oh my. What

have I

done? Severed the

strands that

kept us tied

together.

In birth; in

Texas, sinning

against The Broken

Participle. Trans-

formative species

making speculative measures

against the

grain; who knows

 

What the future

holds? I

certainly do not.

Scraping knee

on weathered wood,

cracked, splintered

wood; dividing out

the necessary

substances for life:

food, water, oxygen

a place to sleep,

good books and

something to make

the heart

be glad.

Flashes in the

face of

my conditional statement;

herein lies

equality’s persistence and

my own

exotic dance. People

 

raise the

dead from Hell’s

consumption; breathe

life into the

inconsistencies,

a stretch at

a time.

 

Ploughshares, speed

and ecstasy transpire;

with a touch of

degradation,

flimsy wants and

irrational numerics.

 

Hope they all

swung the

conditionals against our

beds.

I am blind.

You’ve gouged

out me eyes,

and I can’t

see.

 

I am blind,

and you

can’t tell me

where I

am, I won’t

believe you.

 

The thoughts

in the mind

go numb,

take away my

sanity’s complaint;

complacency. And

 

I suffer

the complaints of

angels, whispering

in the dark.

Lavender dreams,

exquisitely captured on

9mm film;

or was it

a 9mm

pistol she was

holding in

her sleep?

 

The end

of the

immaculate conception

marks a new

direction

in splicing technology.

 

Ear split; fan-

domology quit cars

quid pro

quota. Humunculi

captured on

9mm film;

or was it….

 

Jesus, holy

fuck; why do

I hear

voices

in my bedroom

with the

lights out?

Utilitarian indecision

sparked grief and

fury for

the constitutional amendment

that brings

the feminist movement

to its knees.

 

Born of popular

culture and

throw rugs, she

consumes her

cicada shells in

the vicinity

of the city,

 

What dry leaves

might want

to distinguish our

delirium from

our godless,

incessant whining

for melon soda.

Outside of

the bubble, I

raise my

voice to the

emptiness surrounding

me.

 

Three doors down,

wild music

playing through the

midnight’s rain;

at last, a

reason to

introduce myself tonight.

 

A manifesto

of direct proportionality

to the

music stuck inside

my head.

 

Reduction into

a series of

bright green

gases; fluid forms,

and noxious moments.

Discombobulatory poetry,

remarks the man

with the fish-head;

is taken

from a book

of prayers

 

Half-shaken, half-stirred,

the other half

marginally accepted

as law. Her

own transmutation

 

Feelings of inadequacy

in disregarding

facts or fictions;

holding up

surgeries

 

With the gesture

of a semi-periscopic

indifference. All

things flash

before the eyes

and go

missing.

Dry enlightenment,

pickled specks of

dry dust;

What’s wet are

the tears

of a thousand

little fuckers

 

All dressed in

black. These

days, there aren’t

any saviors;

there’s no pavilion

to stop

the rain. So

 

we cum a little

in our beds.

Timeless perusal

of the earth; dirty

whores dropped

from out the sky,

with wings like

angels and

a pleading mouth

singing to

 

The Exxon capital;

Fortune 500

fiscal responsibilities,

how are we to interpret

these inexact

persuasions

 

I’m afraid of falling—

 

But I can’t

stand here

and let the

fear of

heights consume me.

Imperial transformatives

educating the masses

by violent

upheaval of the

systems of

currency; complete

and utter chaos

colludes with my

inscription

of a thousand

deaths

 

Of course, there

were other

inscriptions

hidden between the

lies in her

surrender, no

more honesty,

no more misunderstandings

between interested

parties. No more

contraceptives

or racial slurs.

This is a

party for the obsolete.

Lessening the interim

and a

hope that reason

doesn’t include

your smile; like

a hurricane and

a flash flood

 

Crowd control

to Major Tom

 

Unidirectional,

haphazardly spinning

plates; reminiscent.

But now it’s

thirty nine degrees

between the

time

you

understood my

demands; the hole

in my

bed

keeps

on releasing

a momentary lapse

in judgment.

Chink slut bandwagon,

oolong match-

box kit, vape

 

Clear tank aqua

rhyming phosphorescent

slut king,

 

Indiginous aviary

plucket band wrist watch,

moral hygiene motherfucker

anaesthetic quill;

 

Contemptuous sit. Sit.

Sit, sit, sit… stand;

ovulate.

Nostalgia pork,

pine cone coke

conglomerate; tassels

swaying this way

in the wind;

 

White washed linens,

so the tea baggers

don’t escalate to

craveporcelaintigers

when it’s time

for lunch

 

You said,

“sometimes when things,

no photos please,

precipitate,” that you

wouldn’t feel right

budding in

the morning.

 

Heel kick, salt

bucket, plant

Horizons; a place

to take

your drug

test &

violate parole.

Broken and cracked,

mildewed extrapolation,

honey when

was the invention

of monogamy? It

wasn’t me

who ended our

transparency.

 

And a kick

to the

head

 

Refreshes the

sink that drinks

my blood;

that concrete

slab of indecision,

 

Lithium in 300MG

capsules;

injecting search

strings into

the rest of my

liver function.

When you were

young, before

time consumed

your lifespan; I

was waiting in

the yard,

 

who is pappu in india

what is my ip

when is fathers day

why is the sky blue

where am i

 

Chroma keys;

molested mirrorgrams

idle idol idel

fiddle fiddle

choke…

 

When capitalists

drown in their

water beds

when the demographics

of noncontinuous

psychotic fealties

change;

 

Here, I am

at wits end.

Rose curves and

lavender; inherent

mathematical discourse

 

I agree in the

small pinpricks

of the stars;

those swarms

of angel feet,

dancing to

the throes of

gravity’s attire

 

And glass blades

whistling words

that would not

die. These crazed

assemblages of

Heaven’s palm

outstretched

 

The warbler

rings through

an April’s

landing, so fierce

her little

pineapple; so

fierce the hunger

of her loving

bite.

Permuted impossibilities;

rife with unknown

soldiers’ paragraphics,

you opened the

urgency to reinforce

my walls

of non-

existence

 

Through many

venereal di-

eases, toils

and strife;

 

Thou wilt

covet my Crest

and propaganda

recorder, bury

my head in

sea salt

 

Weigh my angels

with the tip

of your sharpened

#2; daiquiri

submissions for

use with your

hotel inoculation

spread.

Blue ovaries bleeding

black mucous;

estrogen serializing

the strain of my

interpersonal mischief

 

Every planetary part

drops plastic

choreographs;

 

Incest, bleak misogynist

hammer punches;

it’s all in

the saw blade,

March cock,

sister blue.

 

His iron fist

pummels her

aorta, and she,

the woman with

the welding torch

heats her heart

 

He beats her hard.

Canon bought, canon

materialized; four

hundred thousand planks

of deadwood. Glistening

in the bath

 

Here, I

find the ovulation

of my midnight

vultures’ screams

to be

too much to

bear

 

Poisoned remainder

in a milk

jug. Passing

gas as past

hermaphroditic

cells; storing a

final fantasy

of thrush, resembling

tooth decay

 

Meter marked

the perfect place

to end.

Penises propaganda

work load of

annoyingly synthetic

swims. You meant

the television for

static sound consumption;

 

We held hands,

 

scraped you off

with metallic

bands; every inch

of kryptonite

was fucking with

our romance.

 

She’s the one

 

Mildly masturbator

brings me to

the realization;

that nothing

can confer her

stigmatism,

enigmatic

coarseness,

every body

spills

her

slut.

Spread out to

infinity,

pockets of

black glass

shining

on steel beams

 

Here is home,

curdled milk

and metaphor

 

She sips

breast milk,

quotes an “I,”

 

And into labor,

every particle of faith

becomes transparent

in the blue.


Lovesick

  • Author: Maria Morisot
  • Published: 2015-08-24 13:11:17
  • Words: 1297
Lovesick Lovesick