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MOTION THOUGHTS
Tuesday, September 04, 2007"menstral moon charts" haiku seriesmenstral moon charts areimplications of distant ovarian worlds -- women still contain the old world magic men lost in simple machines -- men cower under their control over Nature's deaths and orgasms Labels: haiku, poetry, women, writing Saturday, March 10, 2007Hands so Little, Depression so GreatRosasharn and Dewey Dell skippin’ down the laneO’ those two’d skip to Timbuktu to undo all the pain Of a blooming, pink baby’s veins in her veins Of a cold, blue baby washed away by the rain. Take me in the secret shade, take me in the truck He took me for a pretty whore ripe to be plucked And that was swell, but truth to tell-- I was fucked Left me inside out, and -- out of luck, O’ You put your arms around me, but it wasn’t any good Now, I’m naked in the wilderness beneath a red hood, And I don’t need a man; I can chop my own wood, But you could do so much for me if you just would The buzzards are cawing, the men are squatin’ On their hams watchin’ hundreds of peaches go rotten If it kills me, I’ll pick til the sack froths with cotton Til it’s full like I was of one to be begotten. One beautiful mornin’ the road unfurled, Sticky, we were kissing in the heat like syrup. One mornin’ he went missin’, my hair uncurled, Wide-mouth frog, hair of the dog, I am a stupid girl So unlike my tight-lipped mother, Body thrown down now in the swollen river This is hell, my belly swell, pop and burst all over Hold my hand, momma, cause it hurts all over Sweat glued my matronly thighs to the seat Sweat stained my dress; too tight, it bound me And God wouldn’t tell me what your name should be Or why he gave us fruit if we’re not suppose to eat Still, I’m clinging tightly to the ballad’s last lilt Hold tight, hold tight, to the basket hilt, Though I have been spat, sucked, and split. I am full of guts. I am full of milk. I tried to slam the door, but you stopped it with your foot, And ran your dusty fingers down my cheek caked in soot, And put your arms around me. But it wasn’t any good. And you could do so much for me if you just would. writ by Cadet Morgan Rose Labels: poetry, water, women, writing
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