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Tuesday 6 March 2012

Misti Velvet Rainwater-Lites

Zoo Saturday

Mommy drags self into now to prove love.
Boy only has four years of memory.
Four fat decades of memories are too
much morbid metal realm.
Satanic rock spirit.
Hollow wood eyes.
Bat shit crazy peep show plead.
Mixing Saturn business with Venus pleasure
under black silk Neptune net.
Swallow whiskey fire for common courage.
Shallow mermaid witch, an artist by default.
Such debauched wallow.
Sorrow stabs tiny knives up and down expired wife spine.
Hold breath past lion enclosure close sunstung eyes
until monkey theater is over
carry ice numb heart to roaring parking lot.
Daddy has the key.
Door much too
hot to open.


Reddest Apple Writhing With Worms 


The description could have been more concise, more heft
in the hand, but I was not seeking, not streaking through
the market all ambitious with shopping cart zoom.
I put perfume on it, daisies, kitty cat stickers
even though I scream at strays, discourage them
from hanging around my lawn living casual as they do.
I would have written in bold black:

Masochist. Married. Might be in love with an ex-pat
living in Berlin, never smelled or tasted the man
so can't say for sure. I specialize in curling up on
couches feigning sleep while men laugh raucous on the phone
with clever, clever girls posing as women...
maybe they're addicts living in Mommy's attic or Daddy's basement...
the point is, stars fizz in the sky like the kind of champagne
they sell in specialty cheese and chocolate shops
when these girls laugh because they are clever, clever
and they know it
they know they have it in spades
with their tinkly laughter and tiny feet.
I'm not the kind to research these sirens then throw ammunition
against them at your triple locked much mess,
so much blatant disrespect.
Oh, you know I'd send a Get Well Soon card soon after.
But sure.
I'm that.
I'm there.
Small and not sleeping on your couch
taking notes
smirking to myself
glad I am not in love with you
or anything similar.

Kissing is important, more important than jokes.
You do not get an A+ or even a C-.
I'm afraid I would have to flunk you for that
and a few other things I am too forgetful
to mention.

It's never a good start, going from the airport to a fast food restaurant

buzzing with flies. They're waiting for us to die, ya see.
From there to topless bars booming the wrong songs.
How many shades of wrong can you find in one paint by blunders?
Sharing a bath in a too small tub...yes, this was charming
when I was nineteen and in love with the man armed
with the bar of soap.

In black cursive scrawl I would add:

I don't miss anything about you.
I miss the shoes, my shoes, left behind
like some kind of thumb of the nose
in your guest bedroom.
...I hope I get those back.



That December day when all the monuments crumbled loud into the sea I used my last token to call you because you told me I could. You would answer you would return and there would be room enough air enough light enough food enough love enough for us all. I would not crumble but ascend. I called but you were in a meeting. You have excelled always at making the honest dollar. I looked out the hospital window with swollen eyes. That was my blood all over the sky. There is a tombstone I have not left for that is where you left me when I fell and failed to ascend. I tried to crawl. I called but there was no answer. A veritable hell of carnage can be traced back to that missed call.

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