The groceries and the rent
I 've already spent
what was meant to be my savings

trying to save me
from rockabye baby
to the grave because lately

I feel a little less stately
and a little more disheveled.

I might ask you to embellish,
forgive me
maybe I'm just nosey

or prone to misunderstand closeness
to a speculative humanity.
Can we truly interact spiritually?

Or is it less empirical than it seems
and we're just vibrating in our own
                                               paradigm
             template
                                 dreams
we weave our own gods eye
to see things.
Everything.

Human beings or
human doings?
Lately I've been toggling through

between the two
in indecisiveness.

"Ah, give it a rest"
Chides one side of my mind

In return comes the gruff reply
"It is what it is, isn't it
           and it's what I do best".

C.e.M 8.14.15
edited 1-24-2016

He's got hair that smells like coffee grounds
And his mouth hangs open when he sleeps.
He says last night
There were a few too many rounds-
He's trying harder not to drink.
He's trying for me.

He's cigarettes in bed
After almost ***
I'm just not ready yet.
He doesn't get it.
I don't get it much either.

I'm taking a breather
When I come back
Will he still be a believer?

C.e.M. 8.12.15

The floor cared not about the transient presence of my bare, calloused feet upon it, and it returned no hushed squeaks or slaps to the questioning foot-falls of my tired, heavy steps. In fact, the only indicator I had moved about at all were the spattered sand drifts that flaked off my soles slowly with the grinding of my heels in each trip.
A soft, self satisfied whisper came from the edges of my cotton skirt as it dipped down to drink momentarily, the cool insulation of the tile floors grazing its parched lips.
I hadn't had a cigarette in months. hadn't even crossed my mind, truly. Something in the sticky summer air called me to revisit old tendencies, and it was admittedly maddening trying to resist.  I had already done the hard part. That was, going about acquiring the ****** things. I was out of a car due to some irresponsibility and malfeasance on my own part, and the engine blowing on my former transport. Besides, I had no real notion where the nearest filing station was, seeing as this wasn't my city. For a moment, I let the unforeseeable notion sweep me away with it, and tried persuading it to disappear.
It was merely out of chance that on the way home from the beach earlier this evening, our car would be in need of filling up. As he fiddled with the various buttons and nozzles on the marquee, I slipped discretely inside and purchased a  pack of my old favorites. I contemplated lighting one up immediately but suddenly, I felt ashamed for my relent in defense against temptation, and instead tucked them away, un-tampered.
The sun and all of its steaminess had sunken back into the earth, and a cool sea breeze swelled about me and rushed in through the passenger side window to ruffle my hair. I had spent twenty minutes into primping it just right, but it was the end of the night and had decided to give up caring as I edged my head closer to that blustering wind.
Back home again, my fingers found the crisp plastic-lined corners of cardboard stuck in the left side of my clutch and, once again I toyed with the idea of giving in. No use, I had nothing to spark with.  I let the package fall back into its place in exasperation.
I suppose it's better this way.

C.e.M. June 22

Oil in the ocean
she is the insinuation
of a poison
both intoxicating
and breath taking
though, without mistake
she is devilishly volatile.
speech becomes slurred and spaced
and her intentions become displaced
as she falls from grace
night after night
this is her fight-
she never stops to question
she might be on the wrong side.

C.e.M. June 14

subtle yellow bruises
obtuse and inconducive
to the injury that
left you spoon-fed
by society.


C.e.M. June 4

When you're skating by on unpaid debts
having grown to the point of
potential arrests...

Can I get a witness
to get me out of this?

or maybe just someone
to do the dishes
while I'm away.
I've used up my energy
and all
one million wishes.
I spent them all on things
I'll soon need to fix

until soon rots into now
and I'm still in the house
maybe tomorrow I'll have
the energy to get out and about.

Quiet as a mouse
If I eventually arrive
tatty and scrambling
wrinkled blouse and a half-assed lie
that wasn't worth trying to say

one way or another
I need you to show me the way
but you've already turned to leave
while I'm
still trying to find me feet.
It's too late again.

C.e.M.
Write date, June 2, Edit Date, Aug 11

Why her eyes look just like mint ice cream,
half melted in the heat of an overly engaging conversation
during the middle months out on the back steps.

Why my belly is never full
when my thoughts won't settle
and I'm up too late on an uncomfortably stuffed stomach.

If this was the way it was meant to be
then well
I just can't see myself being too intrigued.

How do I tell the difference between stagnancy and contentedness?
I fear I'll stop from comfort
before I'm finished.
Or perhaps overshoot the whole target.
Who's to say which.

C.e.M.
original write, June 1 with New edits Aug 11