My mother never appeared in public
without lipstick. If we were going out,
I’d have to wait by the door until
she painted her lips and turned
from the hallway mirror,
put on her gloves and picked up her purse,
opening the purse to see
if she’d remembered tissues.

After lunch in a restaurant
she might ask,
"Do I need lipstick?"
If I said yes,
she would discretely turn
and refresh her faded lips.
Opening the black and gold canister,
she’d peer in a round compact
as if she were looking into another world.
Then she’d touch her lips to a tissue.

Whenever I went searching
in her coat pocket or purse
for coins or candy
I’d find, crumpled,
those small white tissues
covered with bloodred kisses.
I’d slip them into to my pocket,
along with the stones and feathers
I thought, back then, I’d keep.

My hero bares his nerves along my wrist
That rules from wrist to shoulder,
Unpacks the head that, like a sleepy ghost,
Leans on my mortal ruler,
The proud spine spurning turn and twist.

And these poor nerves so wired to the skull
Ache on the lovelorn paper
I hug to love with my unruly scrawl
That utters all love hunger
And tells the page the empty ill.

My hero bares my side and sees his heart
Tread; like a naked Venus,
The beach of flesh, and wind her bloodred plait;
Stripping my **** of promise,
He promises a secret heat.

He holds the wire from this box of nerves
Praising the mortal error
Of birth and death, the two sad knaves of thieves,
And the hunger's emperor;
He pulls that chain, the cistern moves.

i’m fighting with gravity
to the death- until my head rests,
empty as my belly
on this false-porcelain floor-
skin waxy as laminate over
these heavy hollow bones
waiting for freedom-
liberation from this sullen casing.

i shake, manic-
blood pressure in the basement,
nauseous from diet pills and anxiety.
jittery, stare at the ceiling-
a spider, stick-limbed, teases me,
but here’s the silver lining:
no curds or whey coating
my shining insides.

i am stronger and brighter than ever
as black swims in my vision-
light-headed from malnutrition,
i wrap fingers around my wrists
to make sure i haven’t escaped my limits.
the mirror doesn’t lie, but it won’t snitch.
we’ll keep this surreptitious.

spilling my bloodred guts, my blood,
won’t make me wither,
and confessing won't save me either.
this red ribbon stays tied around my wrist.
secrets kept keep me stable
clinging to my only success,
self-confidence cellophane-wrapped
in my absence, my transparence.

the whispers don’t mean a thing.
i am frantic on a wire frame,
white noise on parade.
the ground can only hold me for so long.
i'll sprout wings from my ribcage
and float away.

Crew cut kiss curl stood
above the goose steeping generals
with empty heads and olive green
jackets
dangling aluminium  war medals
for shooting ducks across the border
flying over Seoul

“Nfeuirok2fmdfiwe384194u3ujriwejm"
crew-cut kiss curl yelled.
“I told you 091874874814729”
( his swedish education was now showing!)

The train pulled out of pyongyang
with two thousand dead
that fed the famine. Only the driver
was alive clutching a loaf of bread.

stacked with cardboard cutout missiles
atop 1920s tanks and
painted with bloodred honesty
the entire nation goose stepped
to crew cuts orders.

He was as nutty as a fruitcake
but nobody laughed when he loaded
his only nuclear missile to bring down
the last remaining duck heading to Siberia.

Ha ha!

Author Notes
This is not a joke. Or is it?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago

The next time someone says that
someone else is skin and bones
I'll say that they don't know
what the heck they're talking about
because they haven't seen you
and the way your skin grips tightly to your
tired old bones
the way it sags in some parts
because there's barely any bone to cling on to
or how your skeleton of a body
just lies there uncomfortably on the bed that isn't your own
I can hear you crying out for home
you are the epitome of skin and bones
skin and bones
skin and bones
you are the epitome of skin and bones

But you are the strongest skin and bones I know.

I've never seen you in pain before.
Not even when you cut your finger
or fell down the stone stairs
You complained about everything and everyone else but
not once did you complain about your bones creaking
or back aching
or feet hurting
or knees shaking.
You never told me when you were sick.
I'd only find out from the medicine bottle beside your plate
or from Mom who'd say.
You never told me you were sick.
I only found out from Dad and the way
your body slowly faded every
single
day.
I found out from your headaches
your new scars
your bloodred skin in some parts
your speaking
your breathing
You struggled with your  breathing
yet you refused to be confined
because you wanted to make sure
someone would take care of me.
I can take care of myself!
I should be the one taking care of you so
why would you...
how could you...

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.

But I saw you in pain today.
I didn't think that
it would hurt me that much
to see your face white and crying
your brows knitted together
your bony hands clutching your stomach.
You didn't want me to see you so
I left the room because even in your agony
you didn't want me to watch.
I bet you were pressing the cancer down, telling it,
"I'm not going
The eldest hasn't graduated
The youngest isn't in high school yet
and I still need to teach the second to make chocolate cake."
Or maybe you were telling it,
"Stop it.
My apo* shouldn't see me like this.
If I'll go, I'll go quietly.
I know when I'm defeated.
Just stop the pain
because more than me, it's hurting them.
Stop."

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.

Lolo was a fighter.
He fought it tooth and nail.
They gave him a month
He showed them a year and a half
because he refused to go down
without a battle
without seeing the face of
the grandson he'd been waiting for.
He saw him and held him.
He was hairless and his lungs were blackened,
but he saw him and held him.
But you are a fighter, too.
In your own way.
You don't want to fight like he did
no, you don't want us to see you like that.
You fight with your eyes
with your silent love
with the way you finally let my rough lips
brush against your soft forehead today
with the way you gripped Mom's hand tightly
for the first time
with the way you let my brother clumsily kiss your eye
with the way you let us stay the whole day
even though we were kind of sort of rowdy
with the way you want to go home
with the way your lips silently
formed an amen when we prayed for you.
You never did that before.
I know you'll keep fighting like that
and I know you know when it's time to fight
and when it's time to surrender.
I don't know what's going to happen
but please promise me you'll surrender in peace
without pain
without troubles
without fear
and please, before you go
I want to tell you that

You are the strongest skin and bones I know.

petals
in the wind
floating gently
to their final destination
bloodred scarlet
already started
to wither
in the gentle
wind.

sparks
fly
from an explosion
sparks
turn to flames
petals turn to ash.

ashes
in the wind
floating gently
to rest
upon
a crimson
bloodred
flower.

There's a crowd of pitch black unicorns at a Chelsea Wolfe's concert.
A crowd of pitch black unicorns moving their onyx hooves and horns
at the rhythm of drones dressed in electric guitars. An acoustic break follows.
The vibrations of the music and dancing cause purple flowers to grow,
purple flowers weaned on blood and sticky black tar. There's a crowd of
unicorns dancing at a Chelsea Wolfe's concert feeding on ladybirds crisps
and dragonflies sticks, that once home will play vinyls on mystic turntables of fire.
The purple flowers grow into vines and try to smother the unicorns
to prevent them from listening to bloodred-dyed vinyls on mystic turntables of fire.
Meanwhile in the corner of a museum S. Teresa of Avila's statue animates by itself, walks
to the window and throwing itself crumbles into a thousand of pieces of marble.
The seventh seal has not been opened yet but the ninth the eleventh and the seventeenth
exploded already, cracked their own wax and started spreading tongues of flames
and water to decimate humanity. A woman dressed in a fifteenth century scarlet outfit
leads the pitch black unicorns to salvation creating a safe haven for them
in Manchester and another one in California. They have in the meantime gone bonkers
and started feeding on each other. Equine teeth suddenly grow carnivorous jaws.
Nothing is left in the two oasis apart from a puddle of blood and a pavement of corpses.
It's 7 a.m. Chelsea has not yet finished her concert and her music blossoms around
played by the mystic turntables of fire. That which remaineth is pitch black light
and the breath of aeons lingering here and beyond and nowhere.

you burn me
yet you soothe my wounds with your words

i set you on fire
and then lead you to the river

you are the flame
offering the light to find my way

i burn you
and abandon you in pain

you set me on fire
then hand me the oil

i am the flame
you try to escape

we destory
to build back up

together we burn brighter
our fire shining bloodred

together we create a flame so high
it swallows our surroundings

we stand in the middle of the ashes
and look at each other