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 May 2013 Michelle BG
Anne M
Briefly
 May 2013 Michelle BG
Anne M
He nipped
her lip the first time.
Back against the brick wall.
Bottles warming,
soon forgotten at their feet.

There was something
so urgent
in the way they fell--
limbs tangling on
or against
any surface that
could hold them.

But those surfaces were edged
in pasts long hidden
and razor-sharp,
wrapped in caution tape.

And they remembered their fragility.

So they tucked
in their elbows and
side-stepped each other.
Trading bitten lips
for shattering glances,
they told themselves
No.

But sometimes,
in quiet moments,
the Yes still breaks through.
Constructive criticism is always appreciated.
COP: You killed a homeless old lady in a wheel chair  
KID: I know, I was there…  

he grabbed her
stabbed her  
slashing her again and again,
downward through hot flesh to cold bone  
like she was some mattress filled with money
in her pockets were slips of paper
with hopeful, hopeless scribbles,
cigarette butts and
two dollars and seventy-six cents,
all in change,  
which he exchanged for Skoal
or maybe…Red Man  
the **** colored juice from this bounty
dripping from his grinning mouth
when the cops cuffed him  
and shoved him into their cruiser  

he confessed, over and over  
like he wanted to have one confession
for each slice of the blade  
for each wound he made
for every other silent sin he saw
an acknowledgement
of his petty part  
in the fall  
he wanted her last sight
to be of him shutting her eyes,
muting her cries
to him, luring lullabies    

the judge would not put him to death,
though he would have liked to  
even with his own hand, he mused  
for who could be so joyously jaded  
at the slaughter of another  
instead
he again asked, why?

KID: I made ME immortal in her sight
JUDGE: Your eyes will close a final time as well
and nobody will be there to tell
KID: I know
JUDGE: Do you?
Based on a true story of a 21 year old who murdered a homeless woman in a wheel chair--he took her change and bought chewing tobacco--the deranged young man said he wanted to be the last thing she saw...
A boy told me he loved me the other day.
I looked at him, confused,
and told him not to love me.
Not to waste something so valuable on something so insignificant.
So he simply put his arms around my broken bones and told me instead,
“I adore you.
I adore all your quirks,
I adore all your dreams,
I adore all your scars,
I adore all your faults,
I adore you.”

It is a lighter burden to be adored than loved.
 Apr 2013 Michelle BG
mûre
out of beautiful spirals of dna
I'm so glad they settled on you
my sweet scientist
my clever clover
my favourite pair of genes.

If we chose our samsara
If I could bring you back
and you could bring me back,
I'd do this again.

And again.

I wouldn't change a single thing about you.

I wonder how many lives I've already spent loving you?

Happy Birthday, darling.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
it is dark with you
I squint to see supernovas
on yellow stumps

the wispy silver ripples
fall the wrong way
nothing is left but
tobacco exoskeletons

you brood against velvet arms
sinking into the chair
the stone in your chest is heavy;
immune to April plumage
spilled nectar
and the smells before rain
 Mar 2013 Michelle BG
Julia
You were the yellow brick road
& you thought it was grand.

All I saw were the people,
all the people walking all over you.

But you said "Look how shiny
I am, and how everybody loves
me, I'm golden like the sun, like gold,
Julia, like your hair.
"

So I stopped trying to make you
feel their footsteps, and I left.

I walked on the dirt alongside of you,
so that you knew I was always be there.

I walked on the ****** dirt
that nobody gave a thought to.
& it seemed strangely happy that way.
But
But I'm better at
corking it up,
letting it stew.
© Daniel Magner
 Mar 2013 Michelle BG
raðljóst
I wish that I
                     could turn myself into love;

From head to finger-tip-toe
                                            and to each broken strand of golden hair.

I'd stretch myself outward until
                                                    love encompassed you.
i can't explain the feeling any better
yet
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