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.