Mary Michael

The air was bitingly frigid that Monday afternoon

When so suddenly she appeared

Only seconds later did I spot her peering

Upon a rather questionable piece of technology

“What are you reading?” I asked

“The book of Genesis.” She responded

This caused her thoughts to detour

Into mindless babble about the controversy

Concerning proper prayer location

It was then that I studied her

In an interestingly disgusting way

Composing not much of a difference

All else shifted to the subject of radio

A somewhat plausible means of elusion

Though as she departed nothing was to be seen

But the wake of what remains unknown

Actually...

 Possibilities become ironic

Where certainties do not

Fake are the grins that flicker

As tension paints the corners

Of things we never said

For each occurrence involving your face

The elements of jubilation dissolve

To that of a stranger’s shadow

Frozen, in distance we blend

Actually… possibilities become ironic

To repair what has misshapen us

And that was when the icy twig

Had snapped in two

+ Experiments –

The art of speechlessness
Softly took shape as well the hour aged
Elapsed were the years since nose to nose
I was with such familiarity

Quietly a scope once binded with fear
Was finely broadened by a ribbon of rebellion
The invitation was to experiment
With that project the universe refers to as (+love+)
Which in turn is often mistaken with (-lust-)
Where is it that we stand?

Speaking too soon
Has always been a weakness of mine
And I’d be doing myself an injustice
If a casual taste was said to be
“+ In-development-“
For now we can give and take
These open ends drifting through the air

Panic Albums

I

(October)

Beads of sweat trickled down her temple

Shortly, this action was accompanied

By a series of rough, jagged sighs

Each beat rippling rather violently

Just lounging upon the cusp of panic

II

(January)

The clocks continued ticking

As if all was right with the world

Disgruntled, she resigned.

Sheathing each young light

From polishing panic

III

(Present)

Washed away with snow

So was the fire brick sunset

Suspense not a moment still

Passing Clouds

Shut out all colour for a moment
Concentrate to embrace its absence
Now imagine if your existence was probable
If you were simply a soundless cancer
Just coursing beneath streetlights
Until that spot of microdeath
Blackened your blood

Recall an earlier chapter of your life
Upon which page were you last livid?
Please probe this memory in depth
Hurts doesn’t it?
That’s the byproduct of animosity and fear

Retreat! Allow the psychotic nature
That is this awareness to dissolve
For it is but a passing cloud

Continuum

Darling, awake to all that your daring eyes
Have long since missed
Draw forth a silent, sharp breath
And speak of its strangely taste

“Do you taste of love?” I asked
“No.” she says
“Is a sense of fulfillment acquired?” I asked
“No.” she says

At the climax of that single syllable she froze
Her speech had begun concocting distorted patterns
Of a truculent manner

It was thought that we were to exist as a singular unit
To become one with essentials before suppressed
To evolve from the passions we attract

I then asked her
“What event might have caused such a disturbance?”
She simply responded
“God.”