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Nana Magnus Aug 2018
a.  
lead me light-wise & lumined-weird;
spun silk skin streaming silver sips.
eventually i'll dilate time & you'll dine  
likewise on impossible starships.
b.
ancient-declaimed arrival yet wrought.
mopey & sulkish & overly indulgent in prayer.
this was mine, not your lot;
one earned & honed; never mind fair.
c.
loan me your trust, i'll fashion you rib-wrung;
a blood-borne/o-negative galactic dust.  
imagine me a moon: starvation-slung & scar-hung,
an pale alloy of sorts, liquid of mnemonic rust.
(s)
i'd promised to magnetize you lunar -
swim the moonbeams to mother you sooner.
their smiles said miracles wallowed cosmologically,
though mama's fascia furied my flesh genealogically.
Nana Magnus Aug 2018
sober splendor splash of slumber, sublimes
the brainless babbler.
she, the molten messiness of a master mad(wo)man, mean
vivisector varying vaguely within the inside-out.
para-prey: the paltry prowler
near-guillotined non-guileless: then, (gods granting)
****** of clemency.
Nana Magnus Apr 2018
newborn time, where once time was naught;
and then some seemingly fumble-drunk plunking of
token-currency through the washing machine slot;
spin-cycle revolutions on wash-and-rinse repeat
awash and aslosh in sudsy solution of numerical plot
circadian rhythm jailhouse-rocking orbitals round the clock;
a veritable jackpot vault
from the fumble-drunk Plunker’s shivering pockets knocks.
gazillions of millennia redeemed and sentience achieved,
though to Him, we’re a chore, a bore;
and anyway, sick men are more interested in their snot
than in us, an all-too-human lot.
Nana Magnus Apr 2018
beat me ******: black & blue.
those wordless words draw me closer to you.
bludgeon the body, sluice the skin,
come noontide monsoons, set my limbs
like organs in aspic, bedroom hymns
in the windowpane-patch of moon-tide pale,
embedded deeper in me than any true tale.
and so beat me ******: black & blue.
those wordless words count quite sorely few.
Nana Magnus Apr 2018
light up my mind with emerald luminance.
saline drip, fracture the Unblessed wrenched asunder
slip into the railed bed, slide underneath the covers.
electrify my mind with medicine lupinous
snaking tubes and swanning compresses
reminding me of my terrible humanness,
reminding me of a body mutinous.
Lord, forgive me for the time I’ve monotonized
I’ve put you through much,
might as well have lobotomized...
when what to my wandering eyes would appear
but moonbox tintype of laquer and emulsion, my dear.
the color glances off the glassy eyes
and Lord, I swear it’s moving,
colors improving,
but no, its only my eyes crossed,
colors translucent down the nose, wonder lost.
no, no, my dear Max:
there is much to fear
but little of that is near.
enough of this machine-line rhyme.
if I cannot say this, no one ever will know.
would that be a tragedy?
strange malady when you’re all alone.
even more so when you’re death-prone.
the IV tubes drain the purple from my chest,
severed into a million red and blue beams.
it surely streams.
nothing remains as it seems.
Max, your form into my mind squirms
like a million alabaster-cold worms pressed into marble.
so much so the mind cannot help but marvel.
Nana Magnus Apr 2018
they warned me never to mumble, fingertip-tap morse-code morosely; never to mangle & mar the monosyllable.  and so i silenced any speech.  

they warned me to avoid glass, come noontide monsoons. and yet, come their noctem nightmare moon-tide, i'd curl against the windowpane-patch of pale as the storm-sounding swamp snapped moss-slung cypress asunder.

they warned me my body comprised a temple.  and they were right: a sempiternal chapel of unreason; oratory through atrophy.  and yet, they never understood the love-letters (bludgeoned bruises & bites) woven in my skin.

they warned me never to desire even the monosyllabic moan; never to crave the hurricanical clash; never to desire the wordless-word loveletters of bludgeoned bruises & bites.  

they warned me, warned me, warned me.  and so i knew i was sacred; and i was, Lord, i was -

but i knew the sacred rite of sacrifice.  i knew i'd never bear witness to a dawn in my Dark Night.  and so i suffered in my sin and knew my disparition Blessed, if only in the eyes of the ******.
Nana Magnus Apr 2018
words snagged behind my teeth &
****** the flood until my tongue
paralyzed ; 'the' & 'of' rang around the
rosie of my uvula & sugared the lozenges
of 'ritual' & 'shame.'

Dr. Dopamine dished cough drops
in droves that tightened my tongue
(noose-like) & sealed the knot sickly-sweet.

malnourishment twined virally through
my type o-negative, gone
thick & licorice-gummy with all the
synthetics in it.

the Doctor slung my sin in webs of
cough syrup: quicksilver dark & downed
before my voodun-twisted tongue slid a slip
through the fever-warm lips.

& even then, I stuttered & lisped.

— The End —