Three Prose Poems by M.S.



Once  I’d  asked  the  desert  to  sing.
Told my father I married my bedbug
dream.  She  laughed  at the ceramic
king.   Tongue   twisting   no  cherry
stem. Paw searching spent by others.
River dancing through hail and hunt.
Crowd   burned    years    glued     to
sand  and  sequins.  Pincer-ed   heart
retching      everywhere.     Feline(s)
stretching,   blood   and   bark.  And
flask un-flasked  and  gash and  grin
through jurassic sin.


A Self-fulfilled Prophesy

The day howlers know  my secret.
They   ask     for a bad boy    with
feathers        for teeth. I   have no
doubt    I’ll   be redeemed.     Till
then I    tire   of  war and    peace.
They say    my car pioneered     a
nomad’s  dream. It had     my last
idea  to become a       millionaire.
They    say    my home  has  been
swept  for  drugs. It  had      some
story to         tell about    stallions
lost in a desert. Body yawns when
twin        moons beckon.      Some
school girl   asks for my name.   I
imagine  a diary of penises.




Home is already tired of me. I am the aftertaste of a wedding. Rice crunches beneath my feet, releasing locked souls. Phillipa has a bone to pick with me and can’t wait for the song to finish. I lost my indoor voice along with my virginity but this day isn’t about me. Gilded swans smell my whore’s breath. I carry their hisses through the maze. Bluebeard’s room is perfect to reverse the mummification but I’m not thirsty for secrets. Crimson flashes under grandma’s door. Who’s afraid of the wolf? I always choose dare. I never choose dare. Sentinel’s stoop: Occupied.




M.S. is not as weird as her writing. Her work can be found in various online literary journals and magazines.

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