I Know

I know who the monster of the house is, its

not the one who beats the kids or roams about frothing

at the glands, the petty upsets like napkins on the wrong side

upending plans as much as lives, not the 

closet case drama queen control freak whose pretty pink

insides want's so desperately to be pulled out or display to the 

rest of the EVERYTHING (even if its the souls around) no its

the enablers who let them all get away with it, Cosby & Kelly's crews the

quiet ones who are good with plans, dont call the cops, grow all the greens I

weep dearly at those who watched them and let them walk

away from me too, its all over and stupid and madness too love.

Dont worry sweetie, it'll get better one day, just like

it did yesterday and the day before, twenty years more and 

we'll all be dead inside just like the friends you gave away the

hardship, the beatings here in holms stock give rise to something new its

Don't worry, just a few more fingers for the 

dyke, befroe we all get washed a

.way.

Wilde-Wood

Giving, there is

something about it & me a now, the

days are growing (old/stale/cold/bitter) long, & of this

actual NEED & utter desire to unwind, unravel so I

...I

Giving in?  (because you don't get it sweetie, I'd have done so)

much of would you do the same?  The days are shorter now they

Darker Akri-on-soft wormwood now burying, burrowing deep I

hippi-potta-mom, vibes as she's killing

more than a day, for 

WHAT IS HER MIDDLE NAME?

(I know not that nor the current day) I

A wretch which way do I or her or we enjoy

the soft son, catching on my teeth & death & worries just

a filliment & a day away, I am

Giving....(up?)

Oh dark Akry-on, calling now my very name, give me

stretnght at going, no, somewhere, anywhere but

a

.way.

Dreams & Recent Dreaming (a poem)

 

Get your butterfly nets, your giant hooks a sharpened
ready for mouths a gaping, the eyes flopped lollygaged style floundering, sifting, lounging.
Feel them in, gaff them well, club and club and club
until the feet dont feel well, or see the light; till toes cant stand the dancing.

These emotions, they feel like insanity rising,
they seem like stick stuck caught between the hard walls,
bouncing off the long halls, fleeing, gaining near to you.
All the flavors of a hug held near (sell it, dear)

For the only time I forget you, is in the imagined arms of another nearing,
which is a lie for none compete; they are stories strung true, twist clearly
yet I wake each night - yes, every single night, crying, feeling listless
from dreams of your hands there, outstretched, so near. Nearly....

She caught me as one does a gift, did not turn away
that female folly, coming near, oft draining down.
You pull me into me, I sometimes spinning and don't know what to do
you shift me in to you, that kiss stopping time and mercy up and unto itself.

Babe, I woke from this day amongst a dream of you,
at the top of the stairs, sitting in that tightened way
saying all the things I thought I needed, wanted, desired now to bear
Not trusting that version of you, for the real you it churns

in all its twisting brain matter, punked me dearly,
Struck me clearly with a strait look, a wiggled butt
(The way she danced down the hall, grey walls decorated dearly)
She didn't revolt enough there, it seems! Getting her hair a ready. A dream? XD

Babe, visit thus again, thus prep your hands for the holding
for its getting dark, your symbols quickly disappear
time continues to draw us, all the sad songs bind us,
till the Son comes round once again.

Babe, come again,
for the shades are falling, the stars are calling;
the dark, its getting near.
The cold, it rises.

Oh, so very dear; the nearing.
Adieu.

Nordlingen 2 - M.Weisgerber

In Nordlingen's square, they now gather,
Whispers of northern towns recent aflame,
Rothenburg, Dinkelsbuhl, utter ruins,
Trio strange, a foreboding claim.
 
Sun sets in a mystic circle,
Hands entwined, words shrouded deep,
Secrets uttered, none could fathom,
Townsfolk's restless, restless sleep.
 
Dark imagery in their presence,
Shadows cast on ancient ground,
A tree stands, its roots concealing,
Histories yet to be unbound.
 
In the corner of perception,
A black cat with a nub-tailed grace,
Lurks, an omen, an enigma,
Watchful eye on that timeless space.
 
Nordlingen, old and brooding,
Suevite veins run through its core,
Druid whispers in the cobble,
(Secrets whispered, evermore?!)
 
Mysterious flames ignite the night,
As townsfolk ponder, hearts dismayed,
Is it Suevite's fiery vengeance,
Or arson's art in shadows swayed?
 
Town too ablaze, in poetic fury,
A dance of fire, a chilling sight,
The trio's cryptic incantations,
A tale that haunts the endless night.
 
The tree, witness to this drama,
Stands tall amidst the raging pyre,
Symbol of an age-old presence,
Its secrets burned in smoke and fire.
 
And in the periphery lingers,
The nub-tailed cat, a silent wraith,
A guardian of the enigma,
That Nordlingen hides beneath its breath.
x

Nordlingen 1 - M.Weisgerber

In Nordlingen's deark heart, a tale begins to unfold.
Northward cities, ruin's cruel embrace,
Rothenburg, Dinkelsbuhl; now in ashes cold!
(Mysterious blaze, death's darkened trace!)
 
For a trio came south, strange figures veiled in night,
They stood, hands clasped, a circle's dread design,
Whispered words that twisted out of sight,
In shadows cast, the town's sharp lore entwined.
 
The sun set low, a circle in the sky,
As shadows danced and time began to fade,
A hemlock stood tall, its roots a secret lie,
Guarding ancient tales in its temptuous shade.
 
Then a nub-tailed cat, a phantom in the gloom,
Its presence felt, on fringes of the mind,
Watchful, silent, like impending doom,
A feline omen, fate's enigma signed!
 
Nordlingen, ancient, steeped in mystic lore,
Suevite's heart, a meteoric fire;
Druid echoes whispering evermore,
In cobblestones and shadows, they conspire (then?).
 
Nordlingen, all aspark, now aflame! In eerie verse,
A riddle penned in embers and in smoke,
Was it Suevite's ancient, fiery curse,
Or human hands that made the town provoke?
 
A town asunder, a symphony of fright,
Where mystery and dread in chaos blend,
The trio's incantations, dark as night,
Unraveled tales that never seemed to end.
 
The tree, it watched, as flames consumed the land,
A silent witness to the town's despair,
Its roots encased in secrets, buried, grand,
As smoke and fire filled the midnight air.
 
That nub-tailed cat, elusive, slipped away,
A specter in the shadows, there and gone,
A whisper of a presence, night and day,
As Nordlingen's breath, its enigma lingered on.

A Time Then for Singing!

 Here there, tally there; oh on this day of sunshine rose o’ dreaming!

I woke with a thought, then ran quick to jot, this memory all now of a hope-es!

 

For today people are kind I saw the seashore run wild; leapt fast beside to

catch all the wet lighting!  I heard a loud smack & fell on my back, on

 

green grass best oh to roll in!  I wasn’t sure what to wear, or best then to say, all I

know is that spring soon in our land is coming!  For when

 

the sun today rode high, that there would be quick a time, for cheer-den

-merriment-a-frolicking! Yet neighbors agree when they giggle w/ me

 

soon all will be fields of posies & wandering along riversides (there is)?

Such shifts of the poles & flights of colorful birds back to north, I think

 

the gentle rain with snowshade may fall then this morn, yet tomorrow is

promises (great things yet to see & then to smell & tell)!  I witnessed a

 

tailor outside making poof-up jackets so wide; nothing can keep him from

happily a stitching!  For who needs the dew when I’m a

 

writing to you, of castles rising out of near seashores a sparkling? Candles O yes it’s

a day when we get now to chant a “happy somethingsomething” then sent

 

celebrations so wide & fair & true just for..just for..?!  Once more all can dance amongst all

the brighter days, with starshine ‘nuff for several more, I saw I cast

 

grins at doubt, snap fingers at clouds, I hear soft melodies from

all the near windows wandered beside (that of new artists a dreaming?!)  I heard

 

there are tales yet to be told, kitties scratching at posts; a streetside that soon 

might need sweeping!??    

 

So for this Birthday of yours, I’ve done my best not to bore, & hope im

-agination beside bright cheer now runs a-wild! 

 

But adieu for a while, I send this with a smile and all

the best wishes oh just then for you! 

 

Cheers n toodles, -Mark

Apollo, that Hawaiian Rise. -M.Weisgerber.

Dispel, make way!  The rays and waves and aspirations soon to rise,
A cauldron is out there bubbling, brimming
Clouds rising high, matching the crags & swoops coming up,
Rising all around.  Signatures, apt fingers -
Dissolving as soon as grace takes hold.

Hasn't even unveiled its full might yet - the color!!
Oh such gorgeous grotesque drippings, cascading down,
Each stroke dancing brighter, the firelight (torturous, almost!)  The joy..
Paintbrushes ready to capture, filaments 
ready to render. 

Yet who am I, alone on this easy trip?
Merry head felt high, guts placed out in a long line, and

Apollo, in His triumph arises,
pushes himself laughingly up, to the left,
then other side pushing such bars, such impulses aside.
Splitting the day apart with insistence.  I, merely to stoop
and cower, and render, and... and... and...

There is a crown now - pushing, giving birth to the brightness
the light, the hope now rising in a heart.
Even the waves, the edges of my sight they turned.

The mists above, so much swirling, ever circling.

(It takes my breath away..)

The Walk (11/13/2020). -M.Weisgerber

 Love its time: take me, tame me, brand me, all - down to the trail, out to where
the thin lines cut quick & meander past tall roots - rusty monoliths grow

there for another time, oh this other trial; feet & penile don't fail me now!
For we followed the white dog out onto the same pathway you've rumbled
on a hundred thousand times; yes, THE tall brambles that power on, hard 

'lectric pumps that thrum through the same veins as yours or mine, given us purpose
down past the green door...out to where the old loony bin stands tall (the
hard brick of fine fine arches, where debutantes can now wander free) - my oh
my how the mind flutters naturally to hard stones n sterner hearts!  It'

You Remain as Living Poetry (2/12/2020). -M.Weisgerber

 

That’s what they wrote, tis what then they implored me thus to seek

(you cant see such writings in the dark, cant feel blood on flat wood...)

Hearts.

 

For I met a girl there on the sand lounging lazy as the day was long, book

held closely loose, hips matching lips in a pursed way as her shades slid

thus made sense when closer I leaned to inspect, apologized for a sound.

 

Stood back when realizing that hands & feet, butt 2 cheek littered heartily

with symbols drawn, lines; a thousand runes by which to loftily intrigue,

subdued the more dapper words I had then twirling round, wounds not

 

spoke too loud.

 

I fell for the little things before I saw the rhythms, bile rising softly, me to

grin out through the puke poke sneak sack lie in which I’d claim it. 

She smiled at whence she claimed me, rose then said she loved me, we

 

had nerve to call me schizophrenic, yet heartily I awoke to this new fear

that of a girl and a world, and every lie I’d ever tell carved writ wrought

on her at large, on this a frame then now to bend?  (Enter deep within?)

 

For a thief recognizes another on wide streets, & I stood curious, curious. 

Should have known better though as writers, artists, all, they circle round,

vultures all w/ rock band tunes, bandanas held so close; heads sway low.

 

Crisscrossed words upon her open arms, her lovely sun set shadows about

your shoulders; a clavicle full of posies, her side stitched hitch hand to

wave or guts to punch at that the first kiss she shared with me a car broke.

 

A warning to the near sky, “BEWARE”, soft then hard at hand, a land,

your very torso, scrawled all I was lucky just to hold but bold I stood

lightning rises in the jar, cracks all containments, such lids fly sideways.

 

This true delight I marvel(ed?) in holding, its wiggling worms - a frame

that I didn’t see of a name, didn’t share the shame till far too late, didn’t

dwell on the same legs loved, and that alone I should have said mattered.

 

It did not.  I

did not either, though I contemplate on ochre nights, sights made so

fanciful freely my mind shatters on new shores, your open pores beckon. 

 

For one cannot see worry rising in the dark, we cannot meet 50’s fantasy

fascinations without laughing at the fascist ways you circle round, towns

give before your soft toes, the hard fist, yet you did not seek to navigate.

 

 

Only observe fast in a quick song, another mark ready for shoulder side

a blade to draw a new beat, a harmony wretched in skin pulled thin to bite

hard, pull fast in large rooms, the sand calls again I’m falling…

 

May it come again, may the rest of the world see your worth as I, a

Meaning on the brow, a lifting of the now before the snow.

For I…I…

 

I fell for that pit before I ever knew feel flavor traced soft hands on loose

skin above ink that called them yet came to claim it; you (she) maimed

herself for a name, came fast upon hard sheets, a whistled machination –

 

a boob chandelier soon to rise?  

 

Snake in the armpit held, porcupine on the backside, meld

it’s a call for a new state, a new Mexico rising on a hard plain.

I’ll love her leaving there, see her dancing out on the hard pan, I’ll

 

Love there in between, here and take care and everywhere else the same.

 

It is funny, how the bodies we lie in, only rented, hot quixotic electrical

desires as the impulses that slide side by side, meld not but lie, twist side

to other side there in the dark.  Hold not me or you, but oft each other,

 

Upwards, outward – no complaints when bodies sprain the others worth.

Then on to next, into

another.

 

Electrons dancing silly, the thick hair or skin cells flake off of your &

your little hands, being vessels by which to hold, to love.

Babe give me a blotter, and I will show you how…how…

 

We draw little lies upon our backsides, dog-o-the-one-tail not effective as

its cats familiar does not worry about the colors, no blacks then blues,

only bruises rise, same as you gave to I, I…gods…

 

God, you cant see such writings in the dark...

You can never see such madness in the part…

 

(Cant see sparks before they fly)

Cannot call me before I die. 

 

Cannot tell me that I lie, I

love you, and that alone should

matter. 

Listening to the Missoula Floods; a Calling (8/20/2020). -M.Weisgerber

 Righteous hard, flowing fast: hatred grown now then to last (this hard pain)

Crabby (11/20/2019). -M.Weisgerber

 The heat, the sun; hot to tarry ho!  Oh how the heart shivers for a world &
a girl as we two loved by the simple sea, now babe your frame rises up as 

a secret treasure known only between the we & us that's yet to be there is

a mallet on the table, a bib upon the chest - a loafing of the rest which is

commiserate w/ such highs; earrings?  There is a dew drop on your thigh,

a shaker maker of Bay of Olde beside each hand and nostril left to kiss, I

lift a pinky to remove a teardrop from a cheekside stained rouge delicate, 

seeking to set our passions dueling I, desire something you can take along

with your passing a gift to match your care, I need it (I want I want I want)!!

So she grumbles in hard dark, does not understand why or how I wander

when Fells moon lights a shining of the way, heading for the north part of 

the bay & her name & all our legs they feel so similar, wrapped so close.

Yet all I can think of is the man that came before, yea all I can do is

recall which it was is going yet to be; which street will lead you & me to 

we home now.  How many yellowed woods can lead out to azure sea?

I want to stretch out on these same sands that the brachyura roam, I want to

be eaten alive as their mandibles clatter closed (fine whiskers under chin)

use ever vertebrate bone to hold you, to know your moans, deep under

the same murky stars shining for thee; us.

I was here last year on the same loam as the same worries that fluttered near

I tiptoed carefully cuz sometimes shards of glass are buried there shallow

yet growing well now, feeling stronger with you & the days & the sights.

If you pry one tendril off my soul sure it's yours to keep, yet the hole fills

up so fast with filaments and fibers, gamely workmen reconnecting joints 

as the appendages gain traction along with a color blue: all else whispers!

Yet this same token exists to catch dust & souls, memories that move fast, 

quicker than her hand as she reached forth by which to accept (to smack),

oh how I (HATED) loved that simple starshine glitter in her eyes, dragged

her off the beach to dance out in the street between chickens fleeing bikes

her up to the edge of a soft bed where cliffside nears, a rush of hard waves

gobbling up shore & souls & worried memories fading fast, then CRASH!

So yea I have something small, the least of which to show I can care & if

you'll wear them once I'll know your mine, once is more than enough if 

when you come back to claim me (shame me, maim me both I swear)

I swear (sear?) I'll give you something else you simply cant lend back to me.

Never Thought I’d be Here, this Sadness, Madness Held (11/20/2020). -M.Weisgerber

What a day is this that I wake so cold & also so very much alone, I

a pitiful wreck another of a hundred million more designed for bait, kept

alive by malicious hands to shovel hate & superstitions your way, toiling

so hard as to make a heart & a brain forget; they call me wretched.

Swearing that you would pray, pay for all the love we didn’t have to have
Taking the time away from me, from us, everything in between.
Rotting inside a vision held, telling, told all.  (Insanity?)
Nueva is just a name - my game is love. 
 
Not. be care.  free there.  Free Love.
 
Make us
Free.
 
Falling apart, found somewhere in the black between the quasars, I trip, I 
spoil inside the sun you insist on casting, the war worth waging strung up 
on genitals preaching, high school high score being the all time high
all the time yes yet then still we are flailing there, high beyond goalposts.
 
There was a table too, white clothier there was on a wall behind, fast red
bleeding deep, pulling a weeping child & lover out through the void there 
that is everything that we doth now make & define & cast our lines, our 
lives, our lots beside the barnyard terrycloth pulling fast.  Shed there.
 
My mind seethes out there beside the partition where you criticized my 
tastes, my loving heart to collapse on wooden steps, making the turn 
where the dog carves witness marks for all the times we wouldn’t hug, 
wouldn’t yell out at the gloom that consumes your past holds fast to ware.
 
You wouldn’t pray, fucktard, when I asked, claimed Christian when your 
sex fast falling, a debauchery slogging fast (did they know we sexed upon 
the second time?) same as when you’re coming cast, no second cuming 
before the diodes shift, before the wand doth find that crotch I paid for. 
 
It.  Stings.  More than your nails upon a chest did rake, pull it up from the 
sands where I lay, passed the gold I poured a bottle full at a time into doth 
lies, does try upon the same swallowed pile as wont fit inside a mouth so 
greedy as not to let the words fly free – forgiveness isn’t in your nature.
 
Bastard.
 
So pack it into the ground, where I will say any words that will cut or 
score or make your mind forget not that hatred can have a flavor here.
 
Fed Freely.

It Starts with the Screaming (Oh My...) (9/13/2020). -M.Weisgerber

 Then the pleading, the begging, the whimpered whispered crying, oh God

giving way to the dreadful shame of flailing, knowing all what’s given, 
assuming what is soon to follow, Lord take it, cut it, sew it shut, let us 
know any other love than this, let me, let any other sight of us fail. Useful
 
For my heart breaks, my soul it shakes down to where toes touch nimbus
collapse to the floor, inhale the spores that nightshade offers so freely,
dying of dreams stacked so neatly; let the bones shatter at the sight,
breaking will come soon, but love how, just tell me oft how
 
you will look upon these words and not notice?  The pupils widen so, the
small part of your mind that witnesses each word & sentence sprung, not
from my pen but from a deeper well of this hive alive, these lips still 
quivering for your love, a moment, anything this world knows good.  Yet
 
sure she see everything a man has yet to give & say it’s not enough?  A 
LIFE?! it’s better than receiving (A KNIFE)? certainly held fast, quaking
hands are best to give, held then to condemn yet nothing more than the
very soul of a man; a human opened up more freely than tools allow.
 
So no, no, it starts with the quiet, then giving in to pleading, a mind
flaming out towards disbelieving; a breaking of a heart, yes I shook yours 
you took mine too, but love I swear that madness now is worth it, the 
many months of toil for a moment in the Son, I, I,
 
I want to take sexist attitudes & squash such simple faces, I want to yell
platitudes from rooftops I’ll never live to see, I want to ride, ride
hard shaped cold of polar opposites blended together, get rid of lines of
any equator or the other dividing parts that forever thus kept us apart.
 
Still more failure then yet to be.  Yet to come.
 
So how do you cast eyes upon this quaking face, the lines this blood filled 
socket of eyes that pass, rays from slanted turns of the earth, the very
pacing of the days giving in to night, the panic of the right to say I love.
 
You.  You mattered.
And if the red comes?  And the screaming, and the hate, oh you, love
if you thought just a simple betrayal was all that’s worst to offer, then you
no you didn’t know the poets odium or the talent of a torn mind.  No you
 
You didnt, dont know the furry of a man, the shaking of fists to dark skies
don’t know how to take to the seas; for he sails for days on hope, he
writes lyrics to an ode that crashes mightily on strange shores you’ll not
no simply will not ever need, to shatter & clatter again & again & again?
 
Fury, love, hatred – what do you know of this music, the words? I, I
shall show you madness held on the head of a grain of sand, I shall paint 
you a lighthouse collapsing into the sea, I & a hundred thousand million 
more of my ilk to come shall render your heart immortal, love.  Timeless.
 
A holler against hard surf, a trial between the nerves caught on razor rock
the space between the lip & the cup that goes where the heat makes it
dance between the moments of strange words, the blur of black upon 
the white, blue - no this knight rides not for you but for hope in hope itself. 
 
I want to be sad for all the days we never had, jump for the joys we kept,
conquered armies of legions of trial & despair knowing not your lies, lair
glorious, simply stunningly, those things you barely knew, held awhile
giving way to what’s to come; shadows behind the spots of sun, or fate.
 
All you have to do, all you have to do is…
 
So heart, dear other organs failing now or never meant yet to be, yet
(What is this feeling coming over my veins?) 
what is this sense, birthing beyond the shame?
Take me, make me, shake me all.  Hold me love, in deus ex rexa,
 
heed this wary call. 
(or with the simple knowing, take then and receive.)
 
It starts with the, it
starts with the
It
It starts with
 
(the pleading)
 
 
Adieu.  

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.)

Other Name. -M.Weisgerber

She’s the only one whose potent
Ink on my page is caught, drawn in
Tones of teal on bars of silk;
Pausing nearby respiration or else
Taking time to break our nostrils wide.
 
She is my sweet automation,
Encyclopedia of misconduct open
To misconstrued answers, guts, and so many bugs!
Curved from knees to feet, hand to bleed
Sweetness in of my lips to part, not sharp, not
 
All the things I need or yet still wish to be.
A ships steel sunk to need –sleek, and deathly proud,
Curl her toes to the point tip, a rune to rub, a
Vein to poke or capture, or with such love to and
Then dance these nights away.
 
Forgive me, I peeked at the sight
Bare bottom exposed then to summer sun.
You don’t notice your care, you curse, your cars are
Filthy now, broken glass in chocolate melt
taking time swerving on busy streets.
 
This kindly place, all of stone,
Here, where we had written to exchange,
And then I to die in (of?) ecstasy, or perhaps
For another moment, another love,
Another name by which to fail its all only just the same. 
 
A timid pattern yet to break. 

Initial Meeting (7/27/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Oh gods am I going to catalog every inch & twitch & turn of her?  I know
the way it was meant to be, I, not wanting to be in this hot place, her a bit
bored with intonation, not realizing that she’s going to claim a heart, I,
 
carrying a dreadful secret, so much pain & shame & hate of the hard days
moving the very way a brain could bake or shake, longing for cold surf, I
thinking she’d just be another number, her not realizing I was hers to take
 
down, then I came to love her most, the way were in time, the simple way
she hated and loved me to the point of choking strange shapes out of me,
my throat down upon the lane that those 50’s people wandered?  Streets,
 
her long drive, a strange sub where streetlights burned so very bright
against the dark before I entered, green grass against silence passing – it
is a swamp though which a heart could yet not drive it.  Out?  No, soon.
 
Oh lord, I think it is true, & in the first glance I had, you so tall, you so
self-assured & everything in between, reminding me of love as I lost my
self upon the heat, the scent, the very way glanced beside August fire,
 
cooking its way fast through the last of summer days, in a land I didn’t
want to be with a girl I didn’t then or yet as know didn’t want to open
or unfold, mostly from fear, mostly from the open heart getting shot again
 
she hoping to take me for a change, care for anyways – for a little while?
Didn’t know I needed to claim her too, didn’t know shame would not be
coming with self perseverance, or yelling, or passing or failing all, no.
 
Oh pain, oh lingering doubt red amongst the folds, a probability aligned
with the stars, the very moon, the high noon was gone as soon as I
learned to disagree; fickle then, heart so bold.  Don’t have to glance back
 
at the starcharts to find a match, somehow knowing the moon was full,
the very way she sat with long boot out tapping I assumed I made mistake
she’d fill me in as I would her soon enough in time, this lie, almost free..
 
“You can’t love her” they say, but on that Dante would disagree,
the pen shivering upon my knee, the tastes lingering on the lower lip the
quavering of a solid breast breaking upon the way we made up the rest.
 
Yes, we are ghosts within, woke upon the machine, yet
Somehow its all beginning to make slow perfect sense now, it’s
patterns form, the day give way to the temporary shelving disbelieving.
 
 
 
Sure, my first wrong thought was how to get you hot to bed, yes
My first impure passions gave way to need, tears, yes, all the subtle
Simple ways I came to love you weren’t worked out till the very end, yet
 
you claimed me, shamed me, unwound me thread by thread so that I,
simple fool that I came into this world as was, ready now for fighting, be
at call n beck for the way you bend your knees, back needing cracked,
 
Pop of jaw and flex before you held me, it was swell that we played days
On days of NEW, yet I never saw you sew!  Never once baked bread, no
didn’t meander boardwalks nor hold hands, separate ways drifting close,
 
her fast lips caught amongst the balm, the way she drank & cried fast of
her lost dad, & I then found my armor gone; I found my heart shift & I
somehow knew then that a day, a year, a lifetime would never be enough.
 
Could you see the bright sun on the wood of the places I used to play?
As a boy how much they meant, how I wanted you there, to stay, do you
know what it is to fall babe, new contagion on the land as the sun sets?
 
Oh God, these words like meeting your face are likely just a curse
to call at the many lovers that follow such strange paths, out onto the
Land mary countryside or what remains by the time I am done, for
 
I burn and yearn and want all that grass in all the countrysides that have
ever been to molt to char to turn the way your subtle look made ash of
piles so out of me, that log in fire trying to call out, forward, prepare, yet
 
margarita before the beer, hard to believe its going to be at least a year
before I miss the way we loved, love the way we kissed, missed you more
than a heart should could bare before it fractures, swollen so, chinks lil.
 
Thirty-three, striking out like Jesus does upon this strange merry land
chatting up stranger words, odd lyrics, that are beginning to be beautiful
somehow before the sun sets, before rain cools chiminea burning, all is
 
heat here, the sweat it is pouring so hard so fast so whenever you are near
Down.  All fall
Down.
 
I came to a fire beside a shore, a cantina upon the bend to claim her, but
in the end it was me and we and all these foolish words that only time can
mend then matter, & the way we once danced upon hard surf.  All is hard
 
here
and in time it all falls
drown.

You Hated (10/21/2020). -M.Weisgerber

You hated lying in that grave of a body that for so long made

up all the bitter hairs the fruit, the teeth rotting out between your smile, I 

hating the way this bed is larger now, so empty there that the thought of mad

ness goes way further than your lost deeds or mine.

You hated the way I grinned, loved there in the dead of night with I and this sickness 

missed you so much as to fret and worry and I didn't think to sleep or nod or drink since

deep of that poisin you tend to so deep, its well runneth over 

beyond your back gate, the far stoop, out the drive out to where your land ends where

the wood it rots, my heart it rots, the heat it rots it out too, all

the very last sweating part of hatred that I have for anything as

the grave opens wide and I tumble right in, by

your arms only now by your sides (when all I want, the molecules themselves crave to fall right in)

You hated that body of a grave so long, that I started to wonder why I cared and I and if

that tide could ever be beat (I should have fallen right in, swam so out to see) and I

out on the front porch now having to glance back as I walk away and I wondering if

the nails will give away and that timber one day will simply cave on down, inward.  

Take this hammer then, see what goodness a head can hold.  

Swing batter batter...if only one for park, then try one for the road.

Benethe the Miller Sign of Higher Life (5/25/2020). -M.Weisgerber

"Will you love me?"  she said, looking scared, seeming now arrested beneath wide sheets, my

hands clasping fast, face turning with the day outside, confusion on the mind slowly gaining;

a slipping sort of mental fatality growing deep.  Wheezy with the realization, garbled, mangling.

Falling fast beside the long fields.  

For we pretend met then in Dallas beneath the hot sun, the tarmac waiting, calling so for

your breath bating the threat of a dark horse arriving, in that she subtly asked

"Was your trip good?  Did you see all there was to do?" I not knowing what best to say

both of us now without clothes, her laying sideways as we always know time is slim.'

Yes the simple days would have passed thus in a haze, yes we would have lost ourselves, woulda

stayed the stout same caring yes I cared yes it matter(s)ed, yes its coming round rain again, yes its

falling fast now certainly its a strange tilt, the brightness grows, mortality holds

thick indeed as the bludgeon calls again, indeed its failure before the eyes fast a growing.  

Feeling thin, feeling any which way then to turn.  

To burn.

"Where do you want to go next?" I asked, flipping through the tube, the many brochures

lying thick round in a fan untouched from the day before, the digital clicking down

I think then we both were aware that we arrived on borrowed time, stranding continental divide

living the best between the stuffy sheets, the pieces of you and me - Mexico, I should thus say.

I content to watch her from any such cot through the long day, help her pack the undies

that both of us sometimes drop between the giggling, those tiny shards barely fabric

she enough to wind and love me, the simple ways we knew each other long, compatible in red

The Mississippi's that rage between us.  

The day receding round, the lack of caring of all other things as we held

yes the fucking WE made, going insane, going down another hole together 

yes the small parts simply mattering, yes that 3D Wolfenstein a calling, the ultimatum beginning 

Yes I cared and love, and now I have so little time to say, to hold her.  A little more time.  Please

I now make up the clouds begin to form beneath the crystal shape of a weeping eye, your

days make up the passions I hold, and though simple they for me are the great, the escape.

Anywhere closer to your love, your frame.  

Yet Dallas does not relent in heat yes the breweries called, yes

the art scene staggered uncontrollably yes the tempered winds blowing behind us now, yes

the very flat of the land is something that calls us outward, onwards - this is

what they call winter here, and sure you simple open pustule busting fell for my insanity yes

I tell her again and again the words that matter so.  The shoes scuff.  Witness marks hold us close

more honest than we ever knew ourselves.  Yet we have to look!  Gaze upon the Gorgon's maw, fall

into that fast love that maelstroms could not shake us, she, bleeding dearly, I this open wound

twisting open for a knife that has not been crafted for me to receive.  

I forever will be in love with you yes I made these words, the scenery up instead.

So the flat day moves on, the winter sun hangs low, yet 

"Will you hold me?"  she asked again unto the breeze, her long

neck pushing close, my hands these bitter things crafted just to mend.

"Yes," I said.  Forever and always, yes thus I meant, hopefully said latter part out loud.    

Wanted to take away such pain, only adding such instead.