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.