Morning and evening news there
seems always to be one of us
getting murdered by our
mate. And then the news moves
on to talk chirpily about the latest
on what will make us all thin.
The thinner we are
the more easily tossed.
-M. Ashley
Writing Life
Morning and evening news there
seems always to be one of us
getting murdered by our
mate. And then the news moves
on to talk chirpily about the latest
on what will make us all thin.
The thinner we are
the more easily tossed.
-M. Ashley
Unrequited lover of the light
Longing for west and east facing
Curtain-less windows wide open
But built to be shy of the light
Take it all in unrestricted
Get sick from it
My skin cancers
I faint
My iris-less eyes
Twitch in pain
God comforted me once
He said, “Perhaps the light
Is maladapted—not you
Nor your love of it.”
-M. Ashley

We call this sex high
Intensity cat burglary
Midnight jazzercise
Panic attack—
The happiest kind.
-M. Ashley
Happy National Poetry Writing Month everyone!

With milk
only milk
only whole
milk a
middle-aged
no-frills
dairy maid
grumbling into
her cup
“Cows these
days get
up too
damn early.”
-M.
I might miss caring when I’m dead
doing back flips with my horny god
in the ether I may stop
my glory gathering around me like
fireflies circling the mother fire
for a blink I might miss
wondering how my loved
ones are getting along without me
I might miss the cozy straightjacket limitations
of the short view on death
I might miss the exhilaration of
dread not knowing what
freedom lies in the Great Beyond
But then
I’ll get over it.
-M.
Holding yourself close to yourself
the record skips
the song is long over.
No room for the Holy Spirit
the nun with the flashlight will say
when she ejects you from the dance.
-M.
These beautiful men
These beautiful women
I was their bright angel
in a time of bright angels
in the time when I and my kind
were toppled to the desert god
the one and only
the perfect to our many
flawed and
unchaste.
Rapture is the word
closer to the word.
There
that makes me feel better
confessing now as a dear and
moral friend to the mortal race.
I came and came and
pigsty sex to me was
to them the quickening
touch of the holy hands and
body all sanctified
of an agent of their lord.
It is no excuse but
they were better for it.
In a way
I loved them all.
-M.
Mortal soul in
mortal vessel broken
spilled out on earth
Thick water on wanting
ground
too dry to drink
God puts his
lips to the dusty
puddle and is slaked
-M.