The Lament’s Reply

You dropped your face
into my wet milky hair
trying to smell my soul,
Only to cut me with your hail.

My sticky whiplash braid
unfurled on the spring wind.
And you followed me home,
As you always did.

You dropped your palm
on the gold wool of my coat.
Drawing thin cuts of ownership,
in the cradle of my throat.

With your olive tree talons,
you scraped, screamed  and wrote.
love letters in violent ink,
inside my bones that you broke.

I will offer you no comfort Angel.
This is your lament’s reply.
I will watch you crumble,
Under my blinding white sky.

For I have unraveled  your DNA,
on the shores of your dead sea.
As long I exist,
You can only exist for me.
And I care not.

So know this demon,
When the moment moves you,
and you perch on my night.
Walking my witch paths
Chasing after my light.
You can follow my scent,
on the primeval trails
To find I will laugh at your shadow,
And never lift my veil,
So you can gaze upon heaven,
Ever again.

 

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Belial’s Spring Lament

He sticks a long sharp fingernail between his lips.

“I get the wrong idea when you are kind to me.”

He whispers and tugs the sheets off my hips.

“I start imagining the ways you could desire me.”

 

 

He sighs,
running his tongue over needle point teeth.

 

 

“I would have ways to cut you open,

And make you my own.

Consuming your heart,

While god leaves you all alone…”

 

 

He looks up,

Cocks an eyebrow and spreads a holocaust grin.

“C’mon Gabe, come and get me then….” He laughs,

And drops his black eyes

back on me.

 

 

He’s the snarling spidergeist

Of my underground.

 

 

The grandfather clock stops at 1:37.

He slides into my sleigh bed

Hungry with anticipation,

Collapsing his body into my breathing

He brushes a curl from my face

Silently grieving.

 

 

“You make my hatred weak.

I don’t know why?

You are just another dumb animal.”

He sniffs the air……

“But, I know you.”

He lets out a heavy sigh.

Gently, brushing

All five frosty fingertips down my chest.

 

 

“I have to have you.”

“I am trying to sleep,” I whisper to the dark.

.

. ONE MISSISSIPPI.

.

. TWO MISSISSIPPI.

.

. THREE MISSISSIPPI.

 

 

I sit up.

Rub my eyes.

 

 

“This is always so much more fun when you are awake.” he snaps.

 

 

His long ebony coat throws back,

curling in the wind from my window.

The two am train slaps against the spring night.

And my hair cascades onto the pillow.

 

 

He looks like an angel,

The holy horror white,

all wings and hornet stings.

Buried in the belly of night.

Perching on my headboard.

He is grinning.

Silk spinning.

Spade dealing.

Night twisting

White knuckle fists to deliver the reaping.

 

 

He looks at His watch,

And speaks,

 

 

“Hickory Dickory Dock,
The mouse ran up the clock.
The clock struck dead,
The mouse bled out,
Hickory Dickory Dock.”

MVS POETRy <<<<<<<< BOATMAN

I was just another gun.
To Cock,
Drop,
Roll in the chamber ………………………………..
slam down your glock,
“Put four on the clock!”

ONE. Clickback.

TWO. Bangarang.

THREE. Triggerfinger.

FOUR. Bloodrain.

You were the lost boy who blocked your own shot
with my heart.

You were the lost boy who kicked my soul
scattering me apart.

“It’s almost two a.m. on an idle Tuesday.
Do you know where your children are?”

I ride out into the dark,
on an ink splattered mare
across the valley of  death
headlong into night terrors.

I sit under a tree to catch my breath.

My hands are empty.
The moon rises over me.
And wonder,
“Why you couldn’t you………..keep me………………………. safe.”

And,

I am ashamed of my  heart.
I am ashamed I am barely human.

I make a break for the fingers of god,
and trip in smoking fears.
I chase myself  through carbon bogs,
only to slip in Dante’s tears.

I find my way to the river Styx,
and stand tippy toed
latern in hand,
for the boatman’s final kiss.

He takes my hand
and rows me across the swarming Abyss.
He sweeps me across a threshold,
into a hell where you can’t possibly exist.

MVS POETRY<<<<<<< The Sailing Wraith

His pale, thin, smoke fingers

stroke my cheeks

and dock my heart.

He arrives at two am,

Abaft the beam,

cape fall to the dark.

 

“You, my sailing wraith,

Are your riggings and spars asleep?

Are you adrift alone on an endless sea?

Are you lost this time “for keeps?”

 

I remember how

You caromed gently into me.

We locked bones, bodies and saliva salt.

Rocked in the waves,

until our fires were stomped out.

We had tamed our dark beasts

and licked the blood from our teeth

and rolled into sleep

I was safe for a night.

 

Today,

My gray, war born, bullet eyes

contract until they torch blue.

I whisper to a violent ocean

stolen prayers,

and lofty cries for you.

 

 

MVS POETRY<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Blow Torch Kid

I chose you as my secret keeper.
I made you a bracelet.
We picked out our nick names.
And drew plans for adventures.
I wrote down the measurements of my heart,
And whispered them through a soup can to your ear.
The fort we built together
Should have lasted the long years.
East of Atlantis,
Ten steps from your dad’s garage,
Screaming at the rain,
“We are the thunder gods!”

I am a girl on fire.
A blow torch kid.
A phoenix adult,
the “Hey Jupiter” wind.
I am Doc Holliday,
the northern Sun,
the black edge of the thunder
a misfit on the run.

“And I loved you.”
I whisper through the wind on my guns.
And I jumped from the swings,
landing bloodied kneed just for fun.

“One for the the MONEY!”

I chose you as my friend.
I chose you as the one.

“Two for the Show!”

Come under the blankets with your flashlight.
“I have something to show you.”

Your eyes widen.

“I have never seen scars like those before.” You whisper.

“The closet monster,
chases me down every night.
I am scared as hell
but I put up a fight.”

“What does the closet monster look like?”

“You don’t really want to know…” I say, touching my fingertips
together in sequence, afraid……

“No I do, tell me about it, I am your friend.”

We lock pinkies,
You promise until the end.

I put my soft lips on yours.

He walks down the beach. Black Suit and tie, winged tip feet. Long walk spider on slender thighs, white faced and perfect, skipping stoned burning tides. His lips pull back, the edges of  knives. Was it your scream, or was it just mine? When he pulled back his face, and dropped his jelly eyes?

You pull back.

Gasp.

Throw off the blanket.
and grasp
your shoes

And run home.
I am stiff as a stone.
Shivering bones.

And the closet monster sticks a few skinny fingers out the door.
And begins to cackle,
Because,
I am alone once more.

“Three to get Ready!”

I grow up.

I wear a black suit,
white shirt,
pants and
black tie.
I walk the monster right.
A blue heart around my neck,
to remind me
of your eyes.

I wonder about you, my secret keeper.
Are you safe in the night?
Will you ever forget,
the shadows you saw in my sight?

“Four to Go.”

………………………………………………..sometimes,

Everything screams in my dreams at night.

I have the ashes of so many experiences on my shoes.
The reaping and the wailing,
the surrender of troops
the sonic booms!
Hung heads,
and praying hands.

I
find myself shivering
In the shower shine
of hospitals,
and remake rooms.
Wondering  when and what will break me?
and why I still think about you.

I am a girl on fire.
A blow torch kid.
A phoenix adult,
the “Hey Jupiter” wind.
I am Doc Holliday,
the northern Sun,
the black edge of the thunder
a misfit on the run.

Maddie Holliday Von Stark

The Miles Davis Lullaby

I will become a star,

as you turn off your lights.

After you fix yourself a drink

and wade out into the night.

 

You won’t need a chart,

just the curve of your hands

to reach out and touch me

in the roof’s cobweb strands.

 

You will know me.

Cast down by the moon,

snapping back glowing lures,

catching heat lightning blooms.

 

You will love me

in copper penny wishes,

as Miles Davis plays
on the AM in the kitchen.

And the coyotes of summer

pitch all up in unison,

for the cogs of god stick,

locked in the whimsy of motion.

 

And from where you are standing,

on the porch of heaven’s shade,

I will implode super nova,

and take light years to fade.

From the Desk of Maddie Von Stark; Chasing the Metal Monster

I wake up at exactly 3:31a.m. in full panic, sitting pencil straight up in bed gasping for air. The ceiling fan slows to a near audible pause and my eyes dilate. “FUCK!” the slur escapes my lips with a spider web string of spit sailing across my bed sheets. My hands grasp for my throat. “I CAN’T BREATHE!” I screetch at the darkness.  My brain takes 1.678 seconds to register that, I am in fact, not in a hospital dying equipped with a breathing tube, but am sitting in my own bed, next to MR. WU, my fearless dog, who has already covered his eyes with a sleepy paw. He frowns absently, annoyed with my nightmarish outburst. “Awwwe Wu, how I love youuu,” I coo and rub his belly…he smiles and growls a bit, “you love me….I just know it!”

My bike pedals thread into my boots. The drizzle is warm considering it is the first week of March in northern Wisconsin. I can honestly say I sound like an old timer, but the weather sure has changed in the course of my short life time. The ides of March used to be a lot more frozen tundra and ice castles than kind drizzle and glossy grass patches. I won’t complain about global warming and the four horsemen of the apocalypse, coming by December, “by god, this weather ain’t right!” Ha!, I laugh it off on my slick doc martins, scars and constant smiles born only in brief affections given to rains that might have ulterior motives. Tonight, I am alive.

I chase the street lights to the train track crossing on Main Street accompanied by AWOLNATION, blasting through my earbuds on my iPod.  The railroad ties have a gravitational pull to my spirit that I haven’t quite figured out. There is something beautiful about gliding through the night next to a speeding metal monster. Like a steaming caterpillar sidekick that could take out any dark ghost with a slight flick of a leg, or a wheel in this case. There are also raven spirits of the SOO Line I always seek. They are molten hobos of the universe, jacking up on some speed, as lights, buildings and civilizations dim in and out of their sight.  And as the town I live in, slumbers in heavy quilts and fading night lights and dreams, I carve out a path not taken by anyone but me.

Tonight, I am alive.

That breathing tube can kiss my ass.