Frankenstrong

It's a strange sort of overcast
Foreboding feels like my last
Sit and sort the furnishings
Fort made of my ligatures
Subtle signs and signatures
Didg-ing more to sleep better
Your denial lingers here.

What could plans have made of us?
Past, tense, jawing, gratiatus
No ambushes, hear me thus;
I want you I'm made of dust-
Call direct, don't make a fuss.

My love, the depth of which is certain
Unknown, and made to draw a curtain;
still holds a passion and a flicker
though you continue to grow sicker.

Giving up. I'm moving now
Holding up, somehow.

Tornado, get along.


http://soundcloud.com/brightsparklymess/frankenstrong

(c) Maria Enns 2012

Bloom

Blooming, bleeding, needing
Heart is shopping, head bent
Nose is dropping, 'motions rent
Broken and torn,
Brand new, but worn
Expensively pensively peering
in windows and inserting self
into trains and stations
revelations of
life lessons when
evenings stretch
ins and outs of
being a wretch
while aiming to release, really
singly, not easily
used-up all the 'never'
black speck in my white paint
white drop in my inkpot
a little or a lot
so he rescues me
because that's the way
they say it ought to be
and I run, unwillingly
deepening my trust
foregoing no lust
justifying choice
magnifying voice
this is who I am
just for now, I can.