Flesh n Blood. (10/20/19) -M.Weisgerber.

Stuck in a land, a little like my own,
Growing old bones and thick piecemeal confluences
sights unseen
Unsettling, tepid in the knowing, folicules unknown

Missing my opera afficineadoos, the photographers,
who would very much make this work,
This world,
Their own.

Radical Cruelty. (12/10/19)-M.Weisgerber

Delight in it, we all do
Saving face, letting all the others assume

Ladies, I get it: ya gotta save yourselves.
Yet we are in here, drowning too..

Heartbroken (but can still have fun)

Heartshatter (but doesn't mean forever 'on the run')

Bloodletter, once this day is done

Trendsetter, in all the ways we wouldn't' believe

This warning; a note to those with greed
This letter; tome towards those in need.

Feeling Blue (10/31/19). -M.Weisgerber

..this place, it screams of Halloween
An entire dusty landscape, waiting just to pry,
The lids to delve so deep.
What of a soul to take?

Like others I pined for cheap costumed thrills
A kiss upon the midnight streetside theatre
Or else such strange sights to fill me with temptation!
Fighting the slipping, forgetful lore, of the sliding passages
That tear upon the human heart.
Or this inner cry, of thirstless wanton desire.

I found it in such a place once, not
Knowing that I was then so utterly, truely alive.
The main drag full of whistling cold, the bleak
Of a crooked lampshade, beside that sidewalk
Up high, so high as to call me onward.

Its light did not show me many things,
I basking in the endless future, that was even then
Like the sun, the moon around waning, wasting
I did not know, babe, I simply did not know, but
We smiled as we danced round that flame,
did we not?

We made the most, and like the withering glow
Did hold each other so utterly, terribly close.
Crying, daring the dark to theaten how it could
Gave each other a spark, by which to set next year alight

A hope, dug too deep for fallow snow.

So let the eyes feast on this colored spectacle,
As the breeze stills.
As my pen slows, letting mind and heart pause so
As the day fades, as your name changed:
An important point worth remembering, worthy of saying
Adieu.

Interpretation (Oct 30th, 2019). -M.Weisgerber

First Poem Ever Written To Me:
I'm not the kind of girl you'd write poetry about

I don't have a face you'd go to war for

You wouldn't use soft metaphors to describe me

Or risk your life to win me back

Yet I am like a summer's day,

Scorching and unforgiving, even late into the night

Like a great battle,

I leave a wake of wounded.

Rebuttal (Sad n True),

Yea, battle hardened: I get that.

Pessimistic, and hard headed too

I get it all, fought along with the best of them

Cried along with the rest of them

The laughter piling on

The flailing bodies still flailing, smiling, falling all around.

Fight babe, rail against the coming of the hate

Forgetting, burying the worst of them,

(And me?)

Or at least enough to put the sword a down.

A charnel hate beginning to grow,

that dreaded war amoungst ourselves.

Sing then:

Throw a tune out, to see who hums along.

as we lie side by side. -ee cummings

as
we lie side by side
my little breasts become two sharp delightful strutting towers and
i shove hotly the lovingness of my belly against you
your arms are
young;
Your arms will convince me, in the complete silence speaking
upon my body
their ultimate slender language.
do not laugh at my thighs.
there is between my big legs a crisp city.
when you touch me
it is Spring in the city;the streets beautifully writhe,
it is for you;do not frighten them,
all the houses terribly tighten
upon your coming;
and they are glad
as you fill the streets of my city with children.
my love you are a bright mountain which feels.
you are a keen mountain and an eager island whose
lively slopes are based always in the me which is shrugging,which is
under you and around you and forever: i am the hugging sea.
O mountain you cannot escape me
your roots are anchored in my silence; therefore O mountain
skillfully murder my breasts, still and always
i will hug you solemnly into me.


(addition?: M.Weisgerber)
there is this terrible strain arising,
light seen, taking a heart so into me
it is madness, not murder
for boardline is a boarder defined, breaking lines
not merely kicks that yank or pull
taking in, giving out
this breathing strain

Me Vs. The Manatee *(remnants of '18)

"Florida drive, Florida frame of mind

someone (t)here[!](?) to share the blame,

this endless sun, relentless sweat

A hazy hazel dream, I shan't soon forget."

These words I thought, then nothing more.  

So within a lull I stood in subtle meditation, 

losing count, breathing slow,

feeling the shallow pulse adjoin

the flaming remnants of a day gone past.

Between subtle signs, the wandering lies, 

that many tales we tell ourselves in remembering

out there is now a tall hill, beyond the shuttered lid

an endless plain forming wide, far beyond.

Like this sand its white blankets; snow riding  endless on all sides,

No footprints to behold, no wicked tale to tell

Onward, ever on to near horizon

there no life, no breath: no very essence by which to shudder.  

When suddenly, a thud upon the glass brought me round; 

 leaving heart, and mind to flounder widely

A friendly foe, a troubled face; 

a simple sign of the whole human race.

Drifting.  

Must have drifted again, on this sweet melody.  

Thought at first a strong sun (or other ray of light?) had found us

She suspended their by which to judge

Tearing those soft lids in strong pull

till her own lid blinked.

Yet no - twas not yet meant to be

just a face, with sweet droplets forming, melting,

Her nuzzle marks showing against the sill.

Just a calf; nothing more.  

So now we stood in awe, each watching each other through strong panes

Her moving in delicate motions 

I with hand raised, fighting the urge to run

For shes soft in there, calm

Her tears, a salty trepidation, on which to cool the heart

Now beneath the baking dying of the sun

Each filling with their own frightening monstrosities.  

While we drowned in the tidepull, lungs quailing deeply

For it is on eves like these that traceries form: strong bonds,

a heart and chemicals guide towards a greater love

She floating, I a goblet to receive 

Cause the hidden eyes to melt, flex; to see.

Heart in hand, a tale on young tongue held

a nearing lullaby not yet told.   

As we drift here.

As we drift ever on.  

No, do not leave that place!  Fight for life,

fight the dying of the day, even as the skies melt,

as fingers flipper outstretched vagrancy to unite us

a sweet insanity soon to find us.

As we drift here.

As we drift ever on. 

Must have drifted away again: a stupid thing.  

Snippets of June, 2018. -M.Weisgerber

There are these things, that are worse than death

unspeakable, yes, truly

An unplugging from ourselves, a dissreality

The little bugs, that flit from world to world

gnawing on the souls of those who can never quite be

that is me.

like me.

I want.

(Avoid such hate in time)

10/22/18. -M.Weisgerber

No, no

I'll scream at the dark,

I'll tear at the void, snatch the very light from the sky

For there is hate in these veins, and a sadness that doesn't die

Fighting to survive along the many lines that divide the dreaming.

Woke to the sound of merriment amoungst berrivment of last of Friday morn,

another day, another way moving forward.

The city starts up, the winding of another day.

Another attempt by which to create.
Just watching the city move around me.  

Slide of the Sound (11/5/19). -M.Weisgerber

At the end of the sound lies a hill, all my dreams

(Sometimes one that does not shatter)

So tall as to claim my breadth

So curious as to tempt the rest.

Time to go a hopping, between the many islands

The many slopes that leads up to you!

Head towards the mountain; that simple tall volcano

Alive, or be it dead.

Goodbye for the night, gentle giant

As I slid into the mists, or sip upon your flavor.

This and That: I must. -M.Weisgerber

I didn't then, certainly don't want to mourn,
I don't want to return to all the little gidgets, the habits
Or the many, any, thither thoughts of gold.
I didn't then, I don't think of doing so now.

There is fear somewhere of temptation: that is good.
Of the little flames that bind us, wind us
Cut long past the point I don't feel I need to.  to.  to think.
I need to focus on a vantage, there beyond the nose drop:

Beyond a veil of sleep
Hear the wind beyond the window side.
Oh how the clock can change:
There is a need now to brand the soul.

I went deep enough beside you, recently, yes
Wasn't thick enough, even after everything before - no crying
No folds of greymatter, or seeing of faces; any places, not my own
No point by which to explain, drain, or attempt to claim my own.

I didn't do it for the writing.
I didn't do it for the feeling, or the nausea, or the dreams,
Or the many ponderings I'd want to do eventually so during daylight.
Can see myself in corpse pose: can focus on how eventually, my heart shuddered

No, not yet - surely not enough.

It was vindictive, sure, certainly
It was for the same feeling as in the car
With the blue dash throbbing.
Glad somewhere for the rising in your voice.

For then, a little while, the anger: giving in to hate.

It was for the same reason you reached a hand,
And begged me so hard to try to see; to work on ones self.
Pleaded then, shouted in your own way somehow for me, for we, for us to stop.
It didn't come from trusting.

It wasn't for the way you looked at me,
Nor the realization of friends;
yours who wanted desperately to be mine.
How too they fought with a smile.

Mine cringes.
These habits: even now don't feel like proper things.

For Danny (8/6/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Those were different days
A cupboard held all the spices, the pieces we shared
Our lives, our love: each filament and fragment something more
Spinning round.

That well could not hold, or lie

I lie. I lied. 
Still, we here with our little cat
(who has taken the habbit of licking her legs clean,)
My love, my love, I call our name - our love
What means such subtle words, in hardening times?

So this, the week before you wed, you marry poorly well
Know that I still hold those days, the ways close

So I enter in


She of the long legs, I of the heart;
We knew each other well.
We shape, change each other,
On the Detroit nights a turning, burning well.

Those were different days.

Seen There, A Face (4/30/18)

I saw a face blossoming amongst the leaves: 
tepid buds, frolicking slowly, drifting away in earnest.
In their hope, my heart now resides - a sunshade settling,
A simple fight arising; a strong tide alongside the solid stone, seeming to fester.
Tasting the first light, or sampling the hard noise -
for all is strange, as the earth once more slides around a strange sun.

May the Third be With You (5/3/18) -M.Weisgerber

Heartbroken (but can still have fun)
Heartshatter (but doesn't mean forever 'on the run')
Bloodletter, once this day is done

For to be a, Trendsetter, in all the ways we wouldn't' believe,
our song; a invitation against the timing of the screed
This letter; a loving note to those in need

To Wake (5/9/18). -M.Weisgerber

To wake before the dawn breaks,
to see trouble brewing hard - to see time a looming large
like the dogs bark - harsh and raspy, as my nose
pushes up against the thick glass.  Hard.
as the time lasts, smears there
with no tear strike to warm upon a humbled cheek.

I'm weak.

It is in these many hours I write to you, oh sweet
Jezebel, finding fast how long a heart holds
how fast the day's snow, turns to gold
sand slipping fast between our hands,
then faster still past our toes, out with tide coming
To claim me, faster - faster still!

Always, forever flowing outward.

Its in these beautiful moments,
When the day begins, before the dawn breaks.

I lie quiet; hollow still.

The Tired Times of the Festival, Cherry Blossom (3/31/19). -M.Weisgerber

Oh, and how with just a simple memory, a subtle stirring of the hand, 
and I am shaken, am slain. 

Giving in to these passions of the heart; a beating, a subtle needing 
- a shudder within this cage of bone. 

And now, when this weather changes once again, I find myself a stuttering.
Still the same old name and foolhearted smile as always meant to be? 

Fighting against this cold they sometimes name Spring,
Again, my heart it bleeds,

trying against the waterwheel of joy, that once, so surly, you brought beside to me.

Oh, how we lied.

Oh, how in these words we cry.

Sometimes (Sept '19) - M.Weisgerber..

Its hard sometimes, but my love, shes worth it
Knowing that we arn't alone, seeing these thin streets or mighty lanes crammed thick along with
So many voices, so many strong tales of overcoming;
What joy!It's hard sometimes, my love
But each day to tarry on feels worth it.

I. Queen of the Leaves (First of Two Tales)

I sought the broken moor-fields outside London

to speak to the dead woman kneeling there

between the trunks, grin snared in the branches.

Removed with these truanced fingers, calling,

to beseech her of a fledgling daughter:

what to do of decaying Solanaceae

amongst the shortest day of the year.

I strayed between foliage, reached skyward

with eyes so dead tired of dissolving

again & again into supple tear-craft,

to deliver my amends to such myths.

Faerie: a darkness visible to me

she spoke through dust, each minute catching word, cotton;

sharp-edge attachments on fetid breeze.

Caused a pause of breath & misstep backwards;

a falling to knees where I glimpsed her form

through the disturbance, passed cupped fingers.

While she laughed, French giggles which turned my world

word vertical, save those tortured eyes

carved upon the distance, which held dear me

crying out for simple understanding.

Shades changed as pictures turned

lounged upon the boughs till she fell cackling;

one autumn leaf dancing on spoiled air,

tempting the soil below with casual lore.

Her toes broke the earth where she touched down

clapped rigidly, then asked me to speak,

spitting violence through that beautiful smile.

I went to ask her about her daughter,

drinking heartily, blurring the edges

of my world, I asked only one word: why?

Watched the day burn off with her slow answer,

while blood fell in stages, where it striped soil

of moisture, froze into the red hardpan.

So long, the willows shifted to hemlocks.

I averted pupils for just one second,

one instant more of mute light clutching hard,

knew (heard) it was time then to leave this place.

To walk the longest road home-bound, loathing,

while I hemorrhage; one arm clasped for support.

Knowing it is time to cause a blunder.

For I'm a devil at a quick mistake;

when I make one, it takes the form of lead

II. Les’ Chemins Du Desire (Second & Conclusion of Two Tales)

When I enter a great city at dawn,

each of the hundred thousand, or million

souls contained in steel, or concrete sheathings

beckon with a sound - heartbeats subtle, true.

It's a pale comparison to deceit,

or the many shadows that come from lies;

Enough to form me in the pleasure throes.

To live in the throat of the corridor,

where she fucks hard during the dead of night.

My street starts right where the snowfall begins,

requiring marked footsteps, soft tracings

before bloodspouts can embroider such silk.

Death may often linger upon the dusk,

but has a simple soft side for high noon.

Hard drink has slowed snowsquall, but not the aim;

oddly caused pauseure before I entered

to ponder one star falling from the sky.

Is it a godhead, threading through white specks?

Perhaps an ink-spot catching the soft wick,

or the oily darkness in my blues churning?

Both startle at the disturbance of the door.

I have walked along pathways of desire,

ran sideways upon the walls as well

with a slow squinting of eyes to sight

this loving girl of flame, yet not to burn.

When all choices rot, the decision seems

to murder this girl, bury her in blood;

feed her sickening stench to hungry ooze.

Dilation? I left a him new hole,

formed from all six shots of the revolver.

One to catch the softened, hallow teardrops

or finger fuck to his own heart's content.

To her, I merely took the knifes sharp point

pressed firm with a kiss, stealing the last breath

perhaps reaching forth to call my name.

Waited till the surprised eyebrows slackened,

the questioned smile slid from her naked face,

then took her form to the mud as promised.

Called out for each good citizen to hear!

Shook the golden locks in the swirling air

to show what broken promises will earn.

Walking on, clots drying on my throat, I

dropped her facedown, where none yet dare to move her.