The Coffeepot (8/3/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Frozen then, same as every day to wake & make the long walk, all echoes 

with bare feet slithering ‘long to make their own slow start to chores, let 

the dog out, check the food list, sun filters through cracks on all the south 

lawn closed doors locked fast where a sewing room screams neon green.
 
I hated her pot, despised the mourning ritual she would always do the 

same long legged no tamed miscreant deviancy, no leverage, no change 

in patterns yet made nooses rung quick many out on her back deck yet 

but I will miss her in time, her love, by degrees even her sordid name. 
 
I miss the way she does it well, the morning times, the routine that
Would wake me, shake the last vestiges of all the dreams of blank sights, 

nights a way from the screaming, pleading, premonition of our very lives, 

some leverage against ghosts of her womb, the rooms all painted red.
 
So slog on dear view over past worthwhile double sink, the avocado

countertops’ varnish that will hold our merry trappings, the love

there a maelstrom soon to catch, no latch upon the east gate for

I am stupid, and sometimes the dog slips out there, yelling after.
 
I spilled sugar there once, all the bottles this rum once held, the one time 

she showed me how they had had pried apart the utter floorboards, made 

the center of this house a home, a showstop scene; light in the north panes 

part pieces took my rough soul slipshot from there; grains stuck in cracks.
 
I miss the press, miss the scent, miss the way the fine hairs of her arm slid

long as fingers passed them, she would turn then with a chin lift, glance 

ever at the lower nub & I was slain, I was slain – green eyes that swept 

away the hate & left only love, LOVE, the better parts of my very name.
 
Tear filled then as on the last day, the little flecks of brown & chips in her 

mane as I neared from behind, held, felt the soft part of her heat transfer 

back to me, a hand easing up from chores to fold over the top mine, 

spooned fast, this moment long to last, then CRASHED FAST, no more.
 
So no I will not regret the whine of the buzz of that infernal machine: the 

pooch barks to be let back in, washer squawks as it is done, shoes on, & 

as the totality springs to life & her long car takes her out to somewhere 

else, somewhere sleek in all the jade, I stand in awe that even such love, a
 
girl that has somehow thus claimed me, tamed me, shamed me - both. All. 

Let these words not rot then up the higher shelf, let them be a
 
warning to your worth – oh shine on, dear grinder of my dreams.    

The Milkshake (8/3/2020). -M.Weisgerber

It turns, it yearns for blood; the spitting then the holding, the cutting 

beside the folding, lies set for unbecoming – needs. For she sees, she 

weeps now when she wakes alone, not sad, not glad, no not there, just no 

one here & in a kitchen full of chill days, light sliding sideways, the room 

brightening wildly without me & w/out south wide windows gaping wide.
 
I woke there beside the pour, flailed upon the many nights of fog &

tepid moors that didn’t run, dreaded heat that sunk deep inside our bones:
fast batter – oh so much soft layer on layer to form that strange cake
(this is what happens when the air is right): I am tired of wandering, lead 

hat on as I seek her, belying her past - I remain the voice behind the veil. 
 
I wish to watch her place my hand in that dicing blended rain, I desire to 

see flesh shear, disintegrate, fracture, crumble into all the small
words I need to witness for last of me before the cracking of the storm the

falling of the barn, her dorm, the hatred I’ve been warned to give before. 
Not this foolishness she wishes to be – not the better part of me?  Shame.
 
I woke to stand alone, hurt a heart by which to live.  Surrendered. 
But no, alas: I remain with! Such love - there is a circle of bright between the furrowing my brow at a worry that may never come, I
struggle, shake in the moods that we made, the love that is gone there for someone else to find, wind then, yet it never was truly mine to claim. 
 
I went to look for you in the sky last night, and no
you weren’t there – how I was not surprised, lost dots flying high for
there is no lady rising to greet, no signal that I’ll find, no pause that calls,
each day means so much less than the one before, not colored prayers, no 

cries between droplets, no time – only a man not worth his dime.  
 
So I shall show you terror - of pure hate on the head of a pin; I’ll display 

teeth that bleed upon the breaking, the hundred thousand veins giving 

way, chemicals that invade beside the music that once we what made 

upon that bed was white, then teal, then everything between my brain 

waves giving way. Custard on the mouth side, needing a finger fold.
 
Dribbling tall along this messy mountain, your sheets cupped me, tangled 

fast as I stumbled up, ran down the far drive, out to where the cragside 

could claim me, past where slave owners did twirl and beat me.  They?

A shadow that was we, a fractal that can open, seedling be, but…but…
 
But no – you, like I, we are not ever like that, never
gave up till the needing, sleep beside the sheathing, covered lashes,
not cold, so very chill, lips moving towards remorse:
oh, how my core, my eternal spring then my eyes, my very soul it aches.  
 
Be there now, before it takes me (we?  us?  gone now, forever)

Last Day (5/19/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Take as long as you need, she said, meaning
GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE AS QUICK AS POSSIBLE.
It’s her female palpations falling out of sync again I'm told, I’ve heard;

a simple brain thing I’ve insisted upon seeing, even if I believe da negative.
 
Even if the stars suddenly spell her name out in the sky, even if the moon
falls and crushes everything in this land; my hand reaching forth to draw, 

to claw out the very letters in sand or flesh or heart -
oh love, I know what it is to scream out at the moon in the dark.

For I am (she is and yet can be!)
loudica, fondica, manic & proud.  I have several guitars up upon my wall. 

Don't play the piano, don't you dare now touch my art, cant shift the near 

table set (don’t move the welcome mat) or you’ll only break my heart.
Dont pray w/ me, cant stay w/ me, don’t be any way or in my way or else.

Come into my home where I can hurry you out, come
into my chest, where I can bury you rottenest deep, clean up all
yes all my housewares, wherein so you can loose your mind,
pet my dog now and then no more (know only she'll forever be mine)
 
I'll be there for you, she cried, meaning I'm on my own again, same as 

when I started to see the flailing simple be, same as the cutting of grass, 

falling on my ass when I slip upon the tall steps, a cactus prick, the cat is 

sick; on leaving this seedling heart where she can find it, & grow it quick.

 
Fall fast with me, she said, meaning:
you saw me run once so get your count-down timer ready, its
coming soon like nobody's Jesus, just make believe Sunday someday, so 
prep your heart, beware your mind – know that you will never be a mine.

Still in these moments I love her, still now she makes me proud, still
yes my heart is failing  fast yet I cannot shift the prow, the snow 

accumulates on the back porch don’t put it on the shelf, dear loveliest of 

craven dravens held – don’t do this to yourself.
 
Don’t fly down fastest back roads, don’t once more change your name, 

don’t be anything but stunning, blame only me & myself this moniker my 

shame & the lost words so don’t consider doing it to your yes so be that 

you my love what is simply found simply cant be unlost (not yet anyway)
 
…at least, not if the heart it stands & is true. 
(Let it stand.  True.)