Organic Protein

Is hunger more than a feeling? Is it more

than the crease between the snake

and its tail dipped in stomach acid? Could it be more

than the beginning of something, end of something.

Maybe hunger is what drives the still

In the middle, the knowing that motion

is inevitable, that this pause may be

the only pause. Is it hunger

that allows for the savoring of nothing?

That spec wedged between arid and vapored;

the occasional crispness of forgetting. Do you dream

of empty fields? Does it scare you?

Do you love it anyway? Try breathing

a different way this time. Breathe in and in and in until

you get that float at the front of your head.





Do you remember what it was like to die?

Do you remember being the organic protein? Craving crumbs

of yourself. Facing the nothing like

it was an equal. A friend even. Do you remember

the hunger? The embrace? The after

which was all too similar

to the before? Could it be

touched? Could you open

your eyes to it or was it

shadow behind fire, all at once

less and more than it should be.




Do you know how

                                to return?

What Came Blooming

I'd really prefer 

if you closed your eyes 

when you read this poem, but 

I know that most people probably

can't, so if you can squint 

as you read it 

that would be 

ever so considerate.

Lozenge throated in sitting up straight with a bulb out her eye

 
she feather traced blue solitude into something softer and rounder

but not perfect she wouldn’t dare to stress a witness with perfection


since that would cause comparison and after all it stifled

her creativity under the water of this place called what is possible

yes traced this feather and softened it softened it placed



all that was left of the sky and pushed it into a heap so we could

palm it with our blood heated cheeks and call it beauty in

the reflection of this knife she forgot about the knife but



you didn't you never placed it down never trusted any of it

even softened even imperfect even in that supposed dangerless ambiguity

no you didn't forget the promises the before the waiting the



way tenderness ripened fast like it was afraid

in the well you had spent your life furnishing with love

poems and songs about remembering no


you didn't forget what comes after heartbreak.

summer solace

I recommend listening to this as a backdrop to the photos. Try the last song.

There's a little bit of god in every snap pea.

                    so get lost in the grain of denim.

Look, there. Yes, there. Be not afraid.

                                              Find joy in the lights now.

in the cats kissing 

     

follow them follow follow them round and round

down the steps

 

past the eyes (behind behind)

in the flood beams

taste how the flavors mingle, then linger.

And in the mirror, you may find more than your reflection.

my garden ! ! ! - - - . . . | | | \ \ \

check out my digital collages here: https://maespiegel.wixsite.com/theattic

In the beginning of after

the skin over the heart,

is peeled back lengthwise

for the starved little beasts,

their half-burned retina blazing,

hungry,

almost-sick.




They’re holed up somewhere nice now,

in between not-knowing and gone

(revealed but unspoken).

They’re relishing in the taste of dry earth.




These are the children

of one-thousand preventable apocalypses,

and they want to taste it all.




What’s left?

Unused talismans,

half-eaten preserves,

muted hues

of failed sovereignty,

wastelands of color,

warriors blessed by Cortisol,

the violent shells,

palm lines cut short

by the expected.




Quell this fear

which began so placidly

between ribs and heart and lungs

before they smell it.







Yes,

yes right there

just under the armour.

Past the wound

it’s soft

but dont let that fool you.

And its easier said than done




to let the fear wash over and through you

as if you havent been trying

since you were small

but it’s the trying that counts

and maybe even distracts

for a moment.




But as the chemicals wash

through your mind

And bite with neon green

right behind the corneas,

remember that there is still sleep




and then remember

there is still awakeness to be had




and keep on remembering

those two things

until it melts

down into

that place

where fear

is wedged.

song quotes

"and it's 4am again, and I'm doing nothing again" - Phoebe Bridgers

"It never goes away, but it all works out " - Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

"And when they put me in the ground

I'll start pounding the lid

Saying I haven't finished yet

I still have a tattoo to get

That says I'm living in the moment

And it's funny how I imagined

That I could win this winless fight

But maybe it isn't all that funny

That I've been fighting all my life

But maybe I have to think it's funny

If I wanna live before I die

And maybe it's funniest of all

To think I'll die before I actually see

That I am exactly the person that I want to be"

-Amanda Palmer

"'Cause the thing about things is they start to turn evil

When you start to forget what they're for

And so if you're not sure what you did with my sweater

I'll just try to love you a little bit more"

-Amanda Palmer

Not a lot, just forever - by Adrienne Lenker

And I try to calm the wolf

To remind her I am both

 

Still she tears at my sweater 

 Not a lot, just forever 

 

Intertwined sewn together 

 As the wren sheds her feather 

 

Not a lot, 

just forever

photos of late

 

a new poem

 

Please Read Cass Donish (I'm not kidding)

 The End of Fair Weather 

by Cass Donish

I place a bundle of white feathers in a drawer.

I gather cloud slips to give to a lover.

This is among the last blue-sky days.

The continent will soon go full centigrade.

Each day in winter will be a mirror

through which one may step, overdressed,

into record-breaking summer.

It’s not useless to call out

the name of a moth just gone

extinct, just as it’s not useless to sing

in a dead language

while frying eggs to start the day.

As in, either it is or isn’t useless.

Who here is qualified to decide?

I see the larkspur vanishing.

I see my jeans threading to skin.

In a dream, a lover tells me to start

a panic journal. I say, I don’t want these things

written down. She sends me the ocean

in a black envelope.

I see myself opening it

on a pixelated screen. I see my name

beside the word executor.