tragedy

warheads pressing in-formation causing her throat to swell and tighten building desire like cities digging tunnels too deeply disrespectfully into her earth creating openings and avalanches minute tragedies in her stomach leaving little flags where maybe something lies buried tragedy that has nowhere else to go… eat it or fuck it the catch cry as

no exhale

when the dark balloon when the dark balloon the dark balloon presses its rubbery skin on my inner being when it takes out a chunk of rib to fit i become a prisoner a minion a servant to its inflation dark balloon puffs itself with spiritual secrets faith is the favourite faith have faith test

untainted star

honest lines draw across her skin but he can’t see with blood in his mouth transmission continues I read your code pegged loosely whipping in the breeze making sin out of nothing he stared at her from the cross remain pure she turned around and tapped her red heels three times I don’t belong I

ripples

the disc that spins inside my chest methodically collects sensations it colours my world magenta and black if I let it but these colours are yours my love and I spin them back to you a gift of freedom….   channelling you through my sensational machine makes no ripple in your world of mixed message

Dangling

and there it is puffy with pain liquid with shock orange with fear dangling flashing dangling but still blinking blinker blinker blinker exposing in flashes little linguistadors filing away rubbing glossing smoothing conspiralling seeking underskin surging now dismembering hammering and here the dangling still the orange star dripping upwards blinker blinker blinker    

Final Part – Death of A Poet ~ Mary Anne Baartz

A robot now, she tidies the house. The walls egg her on. Once everything is in order she is ready to obey the urgent commands of the whispering walls. She opens the oven door. Plumps up a soft cloth and lays down her head, turning the gas full on. As she closes her eyes she

A Tiny Screeching Demon

  she blew in on rotten air her eyes dark and bitter green her lips the shade of plum…cresting a wave of lies a virtual shroud dressing the whore of  insecurity and yes when I peered close I could see a smaller version of myself mirrored there a poor child yet in her case the ageing did

Intimate War

  desperate fleshly brush with fists and feet need this intimate lick of chi too close in the fight in the ring flames love loving them to the floor press against the energy red in the thigh arms that hold the thrill of bulging tempestuous control the moment of release as I succumb and tap

Green Shoots Unseen

  AH such keen thrill to this cold, this ice in my bones I run through the house naked a flying queen in snow cloak to stand skin first pressed against fire I squeal with life biting it sucks me closer…. Like old love yesterday moments that should remain buried but are not quite dead and

Burning Eyes

Note: My friend Lady Day has also completed a poem about ‘eyes’, check it out, your eyes will not disappoint! Feel free to add your own eye poem  and link in the comment section!   Burning Eyes coal eyes trample me sadly, burnished, like her flesh, they are raked and old . through red dirt dragged, by