the persistence of memory, Salvador Dali
mapping
The marks on a body are the marks on a map. They tell you
where you have been, and how to get home again so that you can stop
going round inside yourself. Look down at the map. Look up at the
sky. Where is the sun? Now walk. Make a new pathway, walk out of the
forest...
land of horror and sweetness...
land of horror and sweetness...
Ann-Marie
MacDonald, Adult Onset
when the forest is a map you
failed to learn
and those distended days of
whining roses
surreal in the constructed
vase of time
melting into fey insatiate
poses
geographies of countries
primed for peace
for worlds where war is served
up daily
while flowers weight doves down from burning skies
high as bulletproof kites
when windfall fails to cease
petals as the love me love me
not of bald desire
desert sands as grainy
trees of cookied fortune
lust as monstrous notion peeking into fire
Narcissus as the lisp lined friend you
fail to notice
recognizing love as something
blighted
constructed raw from shell’s
exploded bliss
as multi-gendered lies we
build on fading beaches
unnaming that of us then
we then they then this
navigating scars that
bleed through stitches
finding other routes from
there to here
queering broken heart’s
grotesque predictions
a dream of sleep beyond the
braying ditch
what when the with of why
begins to wear
thin remains of fabrics
worn to dirt
what hurt of how and who and
when to witness
where will the whence of
wanton make you cry
on high as bulletproof kites
where windfall fails to cease
petals pushing doves from
burning skies
word weary war torn
smorgasbords of verbs served daily
syntactic maps of
hungry buried bodies
look up look down
the grimy sky’s been primed
for peace
while heaven’s false promise
hides in sunny paths
the cloudy frown of hope
smiles through the laugh lined crease
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