Wire and crimson crepe paper
Feathers flexed
Full span against the
Hurricane that doused the
Firestorm from which the
Wearer of the wings
Was born
-M.
(Day 8 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
Tag: Writing
Shame Me
Draw and quarter my life
all lies
all the same their shelter
pooling in the gaps between
limb and limb
and limb
and limb
-M.
(Day 7 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
I’m Really a Nice Lady
I respect you less because
You love me unconditionally
I don’t respect you at all
You went in for a kiss and
I gave you my neck
Enough perfume to keep
You panting for another year
As if you needed a reason, dog-
-ed devotion is an un-sexy face
You let me shatter you
And I shatter you
A matter of course like college boys becoming
Sadistic prison guards when
Given the go-on by closet sadistic
Psychiatrists in the name of a science
Doomed to perpetual infancy, grow
A pair
And some hair and tell me to
My face I’m a bitch
Be a goddamned man
Stop dotting your hearts with
I… I… I… am not worth it
Have made myself not worth it
On purpose you shake
My linear foundations
One pulsing emotion that you are
I look down on you
for that too.
-M.
(Day 6 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
My Footprints Alone
Dear god, I would prefer
You not
Carry me over the rocks
I would prefer
You let my feet touch earth
Once in a while
A smothering love
That atrophies my appendages—
Hobbles my run and walk
Is no proper penance
For absenteeism and
Hard neglect
And me allowing it—
The crippling love
Is no proper forgiveness
Find another way
Find another way
Find another way
-M.
(Day 5 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
Critics Rightly Observe My Poetry Often Lacks Context
It could be anything
An orange peel
Sunset on a fractured path
Sunrise
On a fractured path
Cellulite on a fake-tanned
Thigh gone terribly wrong
Funky cheese
See here. See here. See here.
I’ve got my pointer out
Round the borders with every
Line-measure of words
But
Did you notice
Never on the actual
Thing
My frustration is quantifiable
I’ve made a chart
See here. See here. See here.
Just to the left of the
Glowing picture screen
Reader
I think we have both
Lost touch
It might have been longing
It might have been
Sunset on a fractured heart
Or some such
Trite shit as that
I give
Give up with me
Let’s call it
Funky cheese
Put our heads down on our desks
And take a nap
Poetry sucks anyway
-M.
(Day 4 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
Make It Rain Manifestos
Campus communist relegated to
Literal red square, painted
Cockeyed on the sidewalk
Apathy! Apathy!
Everyone is occupied
He throws his hands and
Pamphlets up
-M.
(Day 3 of the 66 Day Poetry Habit)
Taco Bell, Downtown Los Angeles: Post-Game
A god in golden overalls leans
Out the driver’s side of an open
Lincoln in the drive-thru
Late night
Tries not to puke
Pukes anyway.
Smiles
Checks his watch
Pays too much for his tacos
Pays too much for our tacos too
Swerves off
We won’t forget it
Who could forget him
He won’t remember
How he got home
-M.
(Day 2 of the 66 Day Poetry Habit)
Blue Light Therapy May Aid in the Treatment of Bipolar Disorder
Artificial blue to beat the blues
No sugar in your cookie, Cookie
Cutter approaches don’t often
Help problematic inflammation in the gray
Matter of fact exercise
Is another lever we can pull
Me closer Dr. Beautiful
Blues—nothing artificial about you-oo
Tell me again
How the mental health benefits of exercise
Cap at thirty minutes so I can’t
Lap sad to death in the beautiful chlorine blue.
-M.
Nashville Summer at Night
A soul heavy as wet July.
Steam rising from the grass
lazily curling and uncurling its come-hither fist
in blue efficiency streetlight.
Windows fog over
in droplet-streaming screens obscuring
the midnight hush-your-mouth in each
of a line of bricked and columned houses.
This is a city morally opposed to sidewalks,
where stoplights go down at eleven.
This is a city whose treacherous shoulders I trudged
for a decade in the dark.
-M.
Heavy Duty Cycle
She sheds herself
one rough skin at a time,
drops them dripping into the hamper,
and, naked innards walking,
drags the dripping hamper
to a sly-smiled laundress
who has her discount ticket pre-filled.
Heavy duty cycle, she says,
and remember,
hang is the only way to dry.
-M.
M. N. Ashley 