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a mcvicar Jan 30
yellow vases shan't hold Montmartre coffee nor goldilocks no more,
brilliant sunshine wrapped around thy hair, unmoving in this unending fall.
yellow paint and quivering ink-eating, masking something for sure:
just make this bread, add spicy Dijon must-dust for show.
eat it all up, absinthe's place in your heart and soul,
toxic waste in your yellowish carnation, oozing out lemon holes.
will he really swallow the missing piece of his own (...)?
was he really the type to ponder & slaughter the only thing that he truly owned?
  Jan 29 a mcvicar
Grace E
Darling, I’m a storm of color
I’ll blow through your soul
And leave your rigid black & white
In bewildered wonder
  Jan 29 a mcvicar
yosemite
body dripping sweat
gently kiss the bamboo mat
in chaturanga
a mcvicar Jan 28
condescending,
condensed baby milk.
baby wipes wiping baby's rage
baby in a crib with Jack Daniels in her cage.
dummies and dum-dums and honey and Babe,
humming & strumming & getting on my nerves.
peek-a-boo!         i see you!
god, i wish i ******* didn't.
baby tantrum, mommy's head turns,
stifle a sob in baby's wrecked baby doll,
vases cracking, baby nappies flying,
now baby's mess is everywhere.
still, (enraged) what did you expect?
round and round the roses went
around the raging mood you've put baby through.
go and hide, mommy & mommy,
baby is glowing with murderous rage
& climbing out of her baby cage
with her tiny baby legs.
baby reaches over
and squeezes mommy to death.
a mcvicar Jan 28
l'éternel retour
m'avait puissé à agir
une, deux, presque trois cents fois
j'ai fait la même choix
j'ai commis les mêmes fautes
je suis têtue comme personne d'autre
mais qu'est-ce que voulez-vous que je dis
si tu m'appelles "babe"
et je ne me sent pas non plus moi même ni libre
French is not my first (or second) language. I tried.
a mcvicar Jan 21
look! she said
pointing at stinky flowers in a drainpipe's head
i stared at the hem of the flowers' own dress
methaporical witness of the unfolded events
the downfall of love & grace & respect
"i shall name my next book like them" i said
but secretly i promised i'd write about something else instead
i have amazing friends
a mcvicar Jan 21
soft words and their way of making people sing
lull me like a sweet tune in this chimney, in this place
in my head, slurring over and over until lines would draw up triangles of sleepy infant "jeux",
  circles of faded fantasies would come to life and pray,
  plus rectangles and cornucopias filled with fun and livelier days.
clouds of droopy golden light drip over our heads as we lay
in soft blankets made out of my personal Heaven's embrace
lush silk pillows under our overweight, over-bearing, strongly fastened necks
  'cause they hold Atlas' weight and the answers for today.
the cycle ends for another shortened day...
the air seems rich with the smell of freshly-made pancakes.
little troll walking down the stairs with a new spring in her step.
lean into the chocolatey sweetness of a mother's oven-like haze,
close your eyes and wonder
if you'll ever feel the same.
distinct memories like these hold the most childlike tenderness in the world, sometimes your own vulnerability is worth being thought of when revisiting memories like mine.
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