TheLunaLily

my head is a hornets nest      rocked by a stone      (origin unknown)      a g i t a t i o n fear and fury, death or rest…

Adorned with new silver from the linings of lead clouds - - culled and collected in stolen slivers, reformed for living in a hope corrected - - ignoring overhead shrouds.

I wish I were empty To be so full and yet so fragile a porcelain grenade filled with the shrapnel that only time and pain and silence can forge My pin is loose I’ve been thrown and jostled and shaken and still I hold myself together I am so full I loose my pen but to what end I wish I were empty and this was just blank space

Your eyes are gems Set in the pommel Of a golden sword. You let the light in, Left me helpless, With nowhere to hide From your precision. There is Honey And Dragon Fire On your tongue. My laconic Love: I’d offer my ashes to be your priestess. The mystery you paint Hides the revelation on your lips - - A chalice I can’t sup from, Religious rites I’m not initiate to - - A Heaven barred against this heathen soul. If any words I leave have worth, Bury me in your heart, And I’ll know rest. —————————————————————

I am a starling, darling, Murmuring murmurations Of memories to fill my skies.

There is a multiverse quietly lighting up and coloring my gray matter, subverting expectations in each bespoke dimension. Never say that I’m daydreaming this is creating: I’m originating worlds, producing cosmos, enriching detail, supplementing subtlety and adding flair. Where are my fellow artists? Raise your tools of expression. Attest! We speak loudest through creation. In introversion there are unknown worlds upon worlds unfolding. Our heads aren’t ”in the clouds” they are wherever we please, quietly lighting up and coloring our gray matter. ‎ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ‎ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

Inflection point. I harden my skin at your words. — Transmutation — My insides flame, a thousand suns of fury contained within this complex vessel. The song of sadness surges through these molten veins. Tears steam and turn to vapor. You will never see it. Radiating rage cracks the clay down the fingers of my right hand. Anathema: you armed me with fire, I armed myself with a pen. I will immortalize my pain and wrath and incinerate your name. ———————————————-

(Exhaling, Birthing the breath Conceived of Fear and Anxiety. Lungs on fire – They need air, I need air, But it feeds the flames inside. I am working on an exhale, Long past due …) (My Rabbit Heart races, Beating seismically In this tightening trammel Against expanding fractures Along the fault lines of my ribs.) (I am breaking And burning.) (This cracking – Maybe it’s my smile, Lately its been slightly too bright, And a little too brittle.) (There is Maybe written in the air, A hope for the next breath, For the flames to cool, Or at least be confined And not burn my Rabbit Heart Which in its weakness Or strength Can drum a seismic beat.) (I am a Supernova in a Tea cup…) “I’m fine.” ——————————————————————-

Your name tastes like apples, vibrant ripe and red, golden and delicious. Your touch feels like music: the bass vibrating through my skin, down to my bones, through everything that’s hollow; filling the chambers with choral music. We feel like hallelujah when I give myself to you. I tremble as you treble cleft my heart in two. Your shadow scents the doorway, a subtle woodsmoke… I see the imprint of your head upon the pillow where you once lay next to me in colors that have no name, even in the dark. I still smell your shadow, that subtle woodsmoke… I still remember what the hallelujah felt like when I gave myself to you. I still remember the pleasure of the bass— still feel the heartbreak of the treble. Apples will never taste the same.

Those eyes. Those eyes. Just a look got her spinning — but all it took was a word,      and she said, “I’m sorry,” like a can being opened — piercing and rending; agonizingly, irreversibly, she couldn’t stop spilling her guts …

I.                     It is Summer and Cecelia dreams of Magpies. Omens flock to her at midnight -- another night, another nightmare -- dark wings crowd her and she is increasingly claustrophobic.  The winged visions never let her sleep for long.           Cecelia wakes with a start, heart hammering against the walls of her chest. She still hears their croaking calls.           Buzzing about her brain is a relic from her childhood, learned and abandoned on the playground, the words emerging from the depths of time like cicadas refusing to be silenced: The Magpie Divination Rhyme. One for sorrow, Two for joy, Three for a girl, Four for a boy, Five for silver, Six for gold, Seven for a secret, Never to be told.            She looks over at her husband, and longs to wake him, to give his shoulders a shake, but pulls her hand back. What would she say that she hasn’t said already? What could she say aloud that she can’t say to herself, that only her dreams can

Infinity rolling like the tide By silver sun and golden moon, Conceiving worlds in my Mind’s Eye, Birthing them upon a loom. Ever fertile my Thoughts spin Silk and steel intricacies. Imagination dyes threads of ink Unnamed colors of my fancy. Words given a heartbeat, once set free, Soar untamed to outlive me.

It’s a sweltering mid-summer Saturday afternoon, not unlike the day before, and the one before that. They are in their apartment, him in his plain brown recliner, her propped on the arm of her refurbished vintage loveseat, the fan spinning lazy circles like a crippled bird. Its thrumming white noise has been valiantly filling the silences, but wings can only do so much. If not for the pain, there would be comfort in the familiarity of the argument sizzling in the air. She said: “How could you say that? And in that way…” He stares cold-eyed and shrugs, his ice gathering shoulders, quietly burdened, are begging for an avalanche. It has become too heavy. Any excuse will do. She said: “As if it is mathematics, equations, not conversations, with your words like numbers, reducing everything to addition and subtraction—“ He said: “You’re doing it again, speaking in metaphors and surrealisms. You know I can’t stand it. What the hell is your problem? And what does any of it

These imperfections endangering galaxies Rippling through space Tearing through t i m e Altering constellations My universe r e s h a p i n g Binary stars blink in distress ✧ S O S ✧ Supernova! Oh! Supernova! I tried reshaping my universe With detached precision Careless of consequence Carving numerous chasms Not creating inner kingdoms Blinding chaos entered easily Through the cracks in my cosmos And settled in It was my futile attempt To release the dark matter That had grown too heavy At my center There was a war of attrition Battles fought Won and lost On this celestial body field With desperation Without mercy - - Mistakes writ indelible In casualties and scarred stars - - A shiver, a shudder A monumental shift And I am left to wonder Whether this