nchworm

nchworm

 

Maria Morisot

 

Published by Moan Lisa Press

 

Copyright © 2015 Maria Morisot

 

Web of Thought-Entanglement

 

Blue-grey sun,

and fetal eyes

burning through

the fog-dense

capital of our

constructed sea,

 

Make love to me

in the bed of

cacophonous

surrenders; where

will & time meet

but once, and sow

short memories

into the eyes of

mankind’s suffering;

 

Blend me with

your pain, so I

may see tonight’s

well-lit sea

of hand-made stars.

 

Uninterest

 

Hanging threads of

love’s last banquet,

holding hands

on the night of our

unequal suffering,

 

Raised voices

in the mire,

a delicate balance

of strains of

serpentine DNA;

& you walked

upon the blades

of grass I wanted

you to fall

into my arms.

 

As Summer’s

deep divide

lashes out

against softly-

spoken surrealists,

playing catch & go

between ticks

 

Of a clock,

long dead.

 

The Sinister Voices I Remembered

 

Insisting

on a sold-

out

rhythmic

holiday.

 

Two coins

flat pur-

chased so

I may bring

the better

quantities

of youth’s

synthetic

sister.

 

Into long, drawn out breaths and rhythmiotic synthegenesis, two strands entangled by our hysterectomy as the minister stands apart from the only logical conclusion to this heart-beat fantasy of ours.

 

Thus Spake Gurugula

 

Gurugula, an adolescent

hybrid of the catch-all

phrase we once explored,

together hand-in-hand

between concrete walls

enclosing us like

beach sand in a jar.

 

Call me crazy for the four winds

often escalate for your entertainment;

for men, the Playboy paradox:

 

Zarathustra spoke second

to none; there was an

ironed out portobello

shrine encasing gold-plated

rings and an antechamber of

our homogeneous scintillation,

I bleed in red; how is your day?

 

And when the follicles

have spouted out the truth;

with DNA & every other code

that can combine with human flesh;

the artichokes will fall out

like nuclear byproduct.

 

We all fall down.

 

Chaos

 

Your hands

as cold as I

remembered

them. My mouth;

 

wrapped around

your skin,

invoking

the stars &

sun &

moon.

The night sky;

 

The principles

of mathematical

decay. An un-

ordinary phrase

followed by your

discontinuous

 

Rage. Floorboards

waxed & feelings

waned, and alighted

notions in a sea

of discontinuous

rebellion.

 

Controlled Linguistic Algorithm

 

An enigmatic

paralysis, coined

on the first term

of her relationship

with God. An

expletive supposition;

 

A meeting of

chance,

perpetuated

by

a continuous

flow

of poetry;

 

We remark to one

another of the days

spent waiting,

watching, never

playing out the

fantasies of our

hearts’ desires.

 

Holding each other

in, in

broad strokes

of the pen &

brush; broad

yet well-refined

surgeries of

love’s last

wetted drop.

 

Three Species

 

Owl-

tiger-

machine.

 

Crank; rotation.

 

A stir for

attention’s sake,

a poignant grip

wetted by the

knife.

 

Incandescent, moonlit

principles of self-

destruction;

carrying with her

the keys

to my own

betrayed consciousness.

 

Coughing Motions

 

I sleep,

and closing

my mind

against the

rocking motion

of his

religious views;

 

And in your

arms,

I am

cemented—

 

Beyond the fog,

is a symbolic representation

of your love;

and there I go,

 

Sinking;

 

Deeper into you,

thinking;

 

What how

we hadn’t

placed within

each other’s

trust;

the beating blood.

 

Incomplete Assemblage

 

The fire

in your eyes

as you scream

in ecstasy &

a bit of pain.

 

Relapsed miscalculation

styrofoam sunset, a desolation

star. Where the wild grass

bleeds out its liquid fire;

 

A triumphant

elephantine

grip upon

reality’s

base skin;

 

That fleshy fire

loosed from Hell’s

eternal position

beneath the starlit

 

Night; our fornicating

furnace of desire and

self-actualization…

 

Burning up

with a fever

of each other’s

lustful stare.

 

In my Sunday Dress

 

And for all the

reciprocal commands,

I watched your breasts

 

Rise & fall,

like kingdoms

thrown together

and torn apart;

 

The dispersion of your breath,

as one sees the templates

of an inner coat of pain;

and suffering.

 

Please me to be

with you, this isosceles

interpretation of God—

 

And also with you.

 

Are You a Senator’s Slave?

 

An hour,

glass coat

hanged high

dull drops

& diabetic

stew meat

 

Raised an eyebrow, to you,

Mister Bear;

 

Hum how loud it was

an echo and a vice

carried over

 

Into long, semantic pauses,

Mister Bear;

& I watched you

fly into the Western Lands

and bleed exhaust fumes

down upon a field

 

Of incinerated corpses.

 

Yesterday’s Store-Bought Sinkhole

 

Crawling through her

under-

current,ly

anticipating store-

bought icicle

 

Pops:

 

Including, but not

limited to:

 

*——-

 

Taking shelter from

the marzipan man;

when the gingerbread

hears her writhe in

 

Ecstasy; orgasming

incoherently like the

blood moon’s meter,

another matter for

scholars to digest;

 

I keep creeping and

crawling through her

under-

wear drawer;

envisioning if

this will end.

 

Train to Rome

 

To three mystic

envelope’s encampment;

where stride fell &

a repertoire of

poetic injustice

bares fangs,

 

Vagina dentata!

A fulcrum to bend

out of rhythm

my intended

asemic course,

 

Her pleasure’s

foot, a steel phallic

Renaissance foretold

on the breath of

aged old men,

gathering in the dust

of their unfortu-

nate caveat; indent-

in dentures;

hibernating slowly

through the fog of a mystic

collapse/

 

Where two bodies

thirst for each

other’s liquid,languid

language of the visceral

per-

sua-

sion

 

Lips Dripping Violence

 

It’s what was

hidden between fore-

finger & thumb; the cross

and the candle’s

 

Drip-

ping

 

Hazard of what

was hallucinogen

reproductive angles

of variance &

our slow coming

into therapeutic

synchronicity;

 

She screams.

 

And in her screaming,

there is the voice

of desire, & pain.

 

Unquieted boredom,

for lack of anything.

 

She shall remain unrequited

in her lustful pain,

sifting terse childhood

memories; looking for

escape. Heaven,

 

Help her find it.

 

Hypertension in the Water

 

In translation; in

dyssymmetry, in iso-

lation, I evolve

 

Devolve, in the rushing

sound of a stream

past noon on a sunny

winter’s day; with the

 

Water’s

temperature just

above freezing.

 

Her hands

cuff mine.

 

And in this

corporeal factor,

a frozen substance,

an addictive

pain, heavy to

the touch,

 

For all this

I cry,

“The raquet;

the raquet,

has stolen

my bejeweled

crown.”

 

Walking With God

 

The stem

suffers,

and the veins

of our quick

incantation

bleed

 

An impermanency

of dribble,

drafting; cool-

water breasts,

nurturing

the child within.

 

The Persistence of a 6 a.m. Alarm Clock

 

Her harsh reality

broken through

blades of glass,

a slivered king-

dom; forfeiture

of an inherent

oscillation,

 

Heat’s breath

upon the skin,

and a half-hid

hideaway; with broken segmentation

from the long, monotonous

space of my

unseemly altercation.

 

Like glue,

hot & sticky

adhesive,

 

Like paper too,

 

Swallowed

by formica

still-

life

menageries.

We Came Into Her House

 

Hiroshima’s bottled water,

coming for the caskets;

right about the time

we took our shoes off,

 

At the door.

You wouldn’t say

which way,

we ought to travel;

and so I came

to you.

And you could hear

the waters burbling;

a propagation of annoyances;

said through the speaker phone.

 

She’s likely to

come,

unnoticed and

seductively

in retrospect,

the way I was;

the way we inter-

act. Pies and

holy books

 

No room to breathe,

but I can’t tell

the difference

between her house

and the attic of

my grandparents’

last breath.

 

Kettle Corn

 

We’ll dissect

each other’s

nonconformity;

create shifts

in reality,

conclusion:

that there hadn’t

been enough control

to hide our forth-

coming anatomy.

 

Self-Censored

 

White frost,

bented blessings,

come again

this time next; year

 

A fluid phantasm,

forcing our malignant

minds to face the pyre;

dropping our incentives

deep down into

additional layers

of ice-cold death,,

 

Star-Spangled Binoculars

 

Cold-centered aristocracy,

a harmful pennant circulating

past dusk

 

& in the interim,

before the bleeding of my

esophagus; child eye

pretenders quaking effortlessly

on grass stilts,

on broken limbs,

easy enough

to die one more time

before the cradle collapses

and we get stuck in

tomorrow’s sweet street

forensic scientist

burned down tunnel

owing to the Spinoza factor

of two pi, four ounces & 1.

 

Babes & Rattlesnakes

 

Insular stock wealth

capital sins, incorporated

into blanket marches

swimming for the gold;

 

& ivory

stilts

breathe

painful

thoughts

to

reduce

one’s

anxieties

to

naught.

 

You were there, well

when we had chained commissions;

Spain was our ivory tower,

where we would disappear.

 

Seven times,

we regretted

the comforts

of our earlier

descending

planes.

 

Asterisk Heart

 

Holding on, it’s a

fit;

heads are aligned &

stars have intuition

to see beyond

the scars. *

Hoping we will walk

through the compass

into the Northern Fog;

where the needle bends

and pointed suns

begin to blend. A fun-

ction of celestial

persistence,

 

Pointing down into

the well within my soul;

a shaman’s healing fire,

pouring out into my wounds.

Torrential rains

of blessings and rejuvenation…

 

—

She’s a girl,

and I don’t know

the half of what

goes on inside

her heart.

 

Disjoint Holiday

 

Jointed, dis-

seminated amoxicillin

& sublime anticipation

with an ordinary

undercover post-

war trauma:

 

You wore night

like a curtain

cover-

ing

your blue, pale

flesh—

disseminating

the dusty flakes

of our past

romantic metaphors;

 

We quake, you & I,

we quake, regretting

nothing beneath this

incandescent sky.

 

Pools

 

Were we

transcendentally

descended

from the

Abyss of God?

Walking through

the forested matter

of a detonated

hydrogen bomb;

the nucleus of this

unassorted & compressed

dissertation of what

lies waiting at the end

of our own self-

destructive blows.

Consolation, foreign

bodies permuted

in the treble—

one small pocket’s

well, one hole

left undivided

by the truth,

only an hour (

past tense)

to seize our

hyperbolic stare.

The Pulpit

 

Soon

I sell

my mind’s

last entourage

 

& scream your

name through

the burning

sensations

 

Motioning

my mouth to

take your words,

slowly echoed

voices of

substance

as I

clear

my throat

you watch me,

measured by

my last

formidable

silence

softly

spoken

hoarse

words,

whispered

through

denim sheets.

 

Media Interference

 

Compli-

cated

broken

rhythm-ic

per-

secutions,

I want to

:::

penetrate

your lon-e-

liness,

I want to

:::

sequester

all the

sexually

intimate

parts;

blow your

mind with

haphazard

bio-gene-

tic engi-neered

fulsome

microbiotic

tangential

horn is in

the right

place to <

build a st-

ep-

ping

plate occ-

urrence.

 

Hallucinatory Anticipation

 

Forensic a-

kaleidoscopic

retinal fever

with moistened

retardant frost;

bit once, by the

sheer

uncomplimentary

voice of God &--

reason.

 

I need you.

Apex Sin

 

Invertibrate postu-

lation

cultural cloud dis-

tinguishment

sump pump placebo

disinformation

 

You held your

head high,

coming through

nobody’s performa

antecedent, precedes

the ovulation of

yesterday’s acknowledgement

 

Motion sickness stirs

in my womb; it kicks,

a strange metamorphosis

of cells, breathing in

the oxygen of my attire.

 

A formulaic symbolism

of everything I ever

wanted to become.

Bisexual Sophistication

 

Reverberated philosophies

sounding something strange,

a beating of her heart;

second sun,

holding hands,

disconnected by the

rhythmic inconsistencies

 

Of her patriotic verse;

it was a silence I

could not comprehend,

it was the vacant blaring

of her unsettled

mind, a mind

mapped

 

Mapped

as though the

energies she’s castr-

ated

off the center

of lop sided

fallacies

had won their

crooked politics.

 

Fashionista

 

I once was a pig,

wrapped up

in a curtain of

self-loathing,

 

Obscure channels

& insufficient lies;

we all want

our alibis to

check out.

 

Four Corners of the Earth

 

It was her second

hand; the clock

of my descending

want. Set to

motion in tandem

with celestial

bodies; & broken

laughter wrenching

apart the celebate

signs of my retire-

 

Culmination

of a start & finish

line; catapulting

over & through

our synthetic blend

of notions and mis-

conceptions; God, I

love you. Let’s

make our wake of

ideologies tender &

more obscure than

the common tongue;

raise the arms &

signal to one another

across a desert sea.

 

Her Isolation Song

 

There’s a

frog

in my

throat,

 

Speaking:::

 

Chemistries;

biologies,

retro-

grade

semaphores,

 

Dust & cob-

webs sheltering

my diseased con-

dition

 

To be a lady

with dis-

mantled neur-

onal synthesis.

 

Peach tree; porcupine

the differences in

our time; as you lay

in bed thinking of

the crystallized gifts

which keep you up, & I

pour out my life into

my metaphoric systematized

reconstructions of you.

 

Not a Number Poem

 

Nine, four, eighteen, six,

capital ‘q’,

destiny’s anti-oxidant

fulcrum, saline;

houses of the holy,

denied access,

surreal responsibilities.

 

Must we pass

through the

gates to enter,

or is there a

back way in?

 

Elevator music,

pop-culture whore;

xylotronic fusion,

mental reality

escapism, plural

“uni ion”

hemp fleet of sail

ships pending…..

 

OK

Exotic Twosome

 

Ecstasy in inebriated flesh,

the bottle of mercury rising

up above our death,

the souls of our departed loves,

breaking bottles in the parking lot.

 

You never were

a simulation in my mind,

created pretense

holding onto nothing’s

cease-

less matter for the vine,

and April fool’s

itinerary, stocked

with shelf decay;

another trust broken

with perpendicular

agendas from the norm.

 

We are the normal

vector, pouring into

space; we love to

deposit our philosophies

into the belly of

the beast. Trade for

execution, taste for

love; we knight the

robber sealing us

into this tomb of glass.

Imprisonment

 

In threads;

half-

lives, broken har-

monic multiplication

implication

overdraft pro-

tection inferiority

complexification;

annihilation.

 

Just as you,

I withdraw my

monotony; create dis-

harmony let the half-

lives break apart

the remnants of a

spectral

flood; of doctrine,

potion & the potent

flavor of death

dissolved upon

the tongue’s

wet mess.

---

---