Mother dearest jumped the gun,
Thought she found the chosen one
In the reflection of an eager bride
Who looked too deep and died inside.
Bang bang,
Mary shot her down
And plucked the thorns from off her crown,
Aphrodite got too close
And lost her face beneath the smoke.
Time has never looked so sultry
As when she falls from noon with a nosebleed.
Mother Nature lost her mind
Trying to pacify humankind.
Ashes ashes, there's nothing real
When all that is, lives to be concealed.
So bury me beneath the ground,
Next to those who also drowned
In something of a sordid tune,
The funeral can never come too soon.
Helen brought her face of gold
Plastered in cement, frozen cold-
For, who we are isn't what it seems
And nightmares are but twisted dreams.
Wake me up so I can feel
The bitter pang of all that's real.
Momma has gone and leaped again
Deep into the lions den,
Down and down her figure drops
Until all at once, everything stops,
Torment has yet to look as docile
As when it rests upon her heavy smile.
So prepare my casket and let it sink
While I loosely cascade off the brink.

Transculent threads run up and down
Old planks of wood-
Upright and close together,
Like distant cousins leaning towards each other
And whispering sweet condolences
At a funeral.
The spider weaves her heavy web
Out of weightless air,
Intricately trapping
Suicidal fruit flies
And drops of dew,
Reflecting off the shriveled corpses of
Unfortunate insects,
Casting a subtle shadow
Upon the indifferent shrubbery:
Infected with parasites that fail to even
Acknowledge his heavy existence.
"I'm here", he desperately wails,
"Beneath your spindly legs
And despair ridden hearts,
Full of something like ambition, but of a different tone,
Beating on and on below your silent wings."
Deaf to his compassion,
They lay tangled in their fate,
Accepting death
From the moment the spider drew close
And caressed their sorry souls with her
Delicate finger tips.
His emerald tendons wear her web-
For, the past won't let him shake it.
An old man
Who keeps the shawl of his late wife,
Wrapped a little too tightly
Around his frail, veiny throat,
Just to know she was once there,
And to keep her from ever really dying.
So the bush cloaks his body
With the cobwebs of the savage spider,
Adorned with corpses
Of insects too passive
To question that which required their lives.
Alone in silent ceremony,
He gravely continues on,
Beneath the dance of life and death,
Yet never fully numb to it all,
His nerves twitch and shake with the presence
Of something gradually taking it's course.
Life flows in and out of his branches,
Like a tumultuous waterfall
Giving life to all around it,
While drowning those too weak to follow
In it's unalterable current.
And so, another day goes by,
But to the forest, it's all the same,
For none can hear the old bush cry,
Mourning each fragile bug by name.

Fear not, my friend, I've rescued you
And set you atop a stone,
Where you can sit and watch the world-
Ah, isn't it lovely all alone?

Don't weep, my child, for you are here
Against your wordly wishes,
But, sometimes what we think is best
Lands us broken and in ditches.

It's better here, above it all,
Look down upon the world-
Clench the day between your fist,
Watch it ooze out of your fingers, curled.

It's easier when you don't think,
For thought has dipped his feet
Into the muddied wishing well
That overflows with deceit.

Oh, fallen angel, does it hurt?
To wash off your bloodied palms,
And stretch your hands out to the sky,
A most perverted kind of alms.

You're safer here, on ground so high
That to look down is enough,
For if you were to take a leap,
Your faith would turn to dust.

I fell asleep beneath a cape
Of thick, porcelain mist-
And let my soul sink into the ground,
As darkness did persist.
I heard a demon cry to god,
Begging his precious grace
To wash away the rotten ash
Crucified upon his face.
The air was cloaked with righteousness,
It seeped into the pores
Of pagan trees and shrubbery:
Cast out of heaven's doors.
I curled my knees up to my chest,
And wrapped my arms round close,
As cold, damp air embraced my skin,
Invoking the Holy Ghost.
                                                                                   MB.

Smile, darling-
No one can hear your hollow wails
when lips are closed
and turned up to the unforgiving sun.
Blackness is only a shade of light
beneath your downy mouth,
a shadow of your solitude, and nothing more.
The faint, wet glisten in your eyes
reflects the bronze and porcelain faces
looming down over your tear stained cheeks.
Frustration comes a shade too light
to be seen over the rosy red hues of laughter
sprinkled across your one dimensional grin.
Your laugh lines stretch out
until they gently brush up against the
soft white hair that frames your ears,
leaving no room for sorrow
pushed somewhere off the grid
of your proportionate composure.
*Life's clock can only tick as fast
as minutes do condense,
and happiness will never last
beyond the present tense.

I plucked a splinter from my heart
As the past began to leak-
Before clumping up against the sore
And trickling down my feet.

I exhaled the bitter, salty air,
And coughed and heaved my loss
For my lungs could only hold their share
As long as I paid the cost.

I cornered you with words, tonight,
And wailed out against the moon-
While anger poured from every noun
Falling dormant upon my tomb.

You thought I mixed it up, somehow,
Between the trembling blame,
As you coiled up upon the sound
That harshly sang your name.

I burried up my bitter soul
Beneath some shards of glass,
And planted a new world right there,
Atop a hidden past.

I crossed my t's, and said my alms
To your sweet and sickly lord.
I held my voice from trembling,
So my distress would not be heard.

I washed my wounds with holiness
Drained from the city streets,
Cleansing myself of all that feels,
For acceptance comes as defeat.

I sat there in the dark, that night,
As I painted out my life
Upon the shores of an indifferent sea,
Unscarred by wisdom's knife.

Oh, do you see the butterfly
That's shriveled against the pane
Of a dusty, concealed windowsill-
Never to see light again.

I killed myself the other day
And lay my head to rest
Upon a towering heap of hay
Because mother does know best.