the heart laid bare

Archive

push
a strange distance
SWIMMING ALWAYS DOWNWARD
A ONCE-FAMILIAR LANDSCAPE
No Apology
the thunder
tinder
VERBAL PORTRAIT OF A CAT OWNER
critical shortage
the sky we thought we knew
CIRCA SOLEM
almanac
baby
dearest orlando
FIVE MONTHS
A LETTER TO THE UNDESERVING
cactus heart
would we
the fall of giants
paradise lost
Dad
after you've gone
time
a smile from the eyes
trepidation
why so cold
fix this
swallow me
untitled 8
insular
cry alone
robin
quicksand
laces
D.I.S.C.
stripped
waving goodbye
your open eyes
enemy within
mortal
untitled 4
sleepless
OUTSIDER
untitled 9
come dream with me
in the face of adversity
one word
the dark of the night
untouchable
one and one makes two
you burn me
see me
this shaken core
my lover
helen
my room
his words
foolish
rita
chalk drawings
the longest night
stupid skeleton
CLOTHES MAKETH
FIRST LASTS
STELLAR
TODAY
I WATCHED A MAN DIE TODAY
THREE WEEKS
this slippery slope
untitled 5
Arrows
First Kiss
The Talk Of Love
Nicotine
Blackout

SWIMMING ALWAYS DOWNWARD

Gripping, 
Sinking your hooks in
I am dragged
So fast that you tear me from my own skin.
And I plunge with you into these depths 
That you keep
Hidden
Behind a million mile an hour stretch of renavigated conversations;
Verbal missiles and dismissals.
 
You cannot self-deprecate your way out of this because your arms-length distance is a lie;
Not warding, but reaching.
 
Each time I think we’ve reached the bottom
The grin in your wild eyes
Turns me around to see another chasm yawning at my heels.
You sit and you stitch me tighter into the canvas
For my impromptu
Burial at sea -
Then push.

I go swimming always downward into the black
Like tumbling into a well
And I have no desire to see the surface again…
… not when I can lie at the bottom
and look up at a multitude
of stars.




© mjc 12 August 2017

return to home

Biography

Daughter, sister, aunt, godmother, friend, public servant; self-confessed hermit, confirmed cat person, sporadic baker, irreformable yarncrafter, voracious reader; occasional wit, voluble shower vocalist, frequent sacrifice on the altar of brain-to-mouth filter fails, random shit-slinger, unrepentant purveyor of puns and dad jokes, writer and poet.

I have always lived by the theory that no matter what you do for a living - if you are compelled to write, if you wake up in the night to scrawl the contents of your dreams on a notebook beside the bed, if no event in your life seems complete without you recording it, if you are drawn to comment upon the world - then you are a writer.

These are my words.