In an eggshell, we
Float happily
Carbon blobs and protein
Cellular globs still gooey
But sustained vertically
By umbilical religiosity
Believing our own slime
To be much protected by
The thinnest veneer
Of calcified beauty
And ritual superiority
While inside we are slowly
Heated to edible
By the tyranny
Of commodity
And perfectly seasoned
For consumption
With perpetual positivity
-a.r.
Painting: Egg and Silver Spoon on a White Cloth by Julian Merrow-Smith
I am untethered
A green globe drifting, floating
Party balloon of the gods
Foiled favor gone too far, let go
Having given up the ghost
And denied the host
A proper gift, goodbye
I will not be played with
POP!
-a.r.
Painting: Green Balloon, by Tonya Engel
That newly stitched and fluffed
Quilt of clean and pristine snow
Simply covers and preserves
The piles of dog shit down below
-a.r.
Photograph: snow hills by savechip on deviantart.com
I cannot tolerate this crunch beneath my feet
There is too much gravel on the ground
Where I am going
And yet
Still
I step
I cannot abide this slicing into my bare soles
There is too much blood pooling behind
Where I have been
And yet
Still
I go
I cannot stand this isolated resting stop
There is too much dust untouched
Where I wait
And yet
Still
I sit
I cannot dwell on the rescue I may be wishing for
There is too much time wasted
Where I wonder
And yet
Still
I want
I cannot stray from this place empty and spent
There is too much unknown
Where I might end
And yet
Still
I will
-a.r.
Painting: The Song of the Lark by Jules Breton
no Self to be saved
no big You to the rescue
this Me fantasy
-a.r.
Painting: The Lovers by Rene Magritte
Last night
My lover made a claim, expecting ALL of me
Of loyalty and of belief, I cannot let this be
I reject this, my body will not digest this
All of anything is a lie, unless we speak of when you die
ALL of me is not up for grabs, not even on the table
I alone will save this painted face, if I am able
There is at least one card you cannot see
So close that I have sewn it directly into me
Mine alone, this fleshy vest, you may have the rest
But this old Dame, I control her play, one day
I will reach, with this hand, into my beating heart
I will rip these seams apart, and I will throw her down
This Queen, and claim her crown
Until that day, She and I decide how much of me
To hold, to play, to bluff, discard, or hide
Or perhaps if you are lucky
To let it ride
-a.r.
Painting: Judith II The Queen of Hearts by Karen M.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
My lover likes me restless
I must admit I like it too
Careful not to bliss away
Or distract with comforts new
A stark direction or idea
Could be born from agitation
Stay mindful not to kill the thrill
With too much empty meditation
-a.r.
Verse sits heavy on my chest
And hisses lines into my head
I cannot turn or toss it off
No sleep, but demon’s slave instead
-a.r.
Photo title and artist unknown
SHE.
Wild-eyed-wailing loud mad woman
CRAZY!
Spewing laced and racing thoughts
SHREW!
From her dark and sharpened corner
WHORE!
Dimming all your made-in-sparkle plans
HAG!
Unaware and unconcerned with offense
BITCH!
Chewing on your shit-shined-up clichés
COW!
Gathering together all the bits you leave behind
TROLL!
Creating for herself a shrill and singular dementia
HYSTERIC!
Ruling high and quick before her forced capitulation
QUEEN!
Reborn and formed again untouchable and touched
Madonna…
-a.r.
Painting: A Mad Woman by Eugene Delacroix
I cannot concern myself
With other people’s pride
When I have such work to do
Deconstructing mine
-a.r.
Painting by Luis Duro
