Amie Norman Walker 日 16/01/2019 · admin No comments

CASTLE IN THE INTERNET’S BASEMENT

‘FEVER ORIGIN,’ SCRIBED A PRINCESS

Twirling on every father’s ineptitude, here I come calling out:
Ether lights! Where is my lovely solvent?

Pissant on my keystrokes, battle brains empty their scars for me.
Wriggling childhood banners deed neutral to my fey heart.
Man upon a platform, not sure what you’re doing here.
Helpless romantic hiding in individualized theory. Whyfor you weary?
Take tests for me, prove you’ve foulmouthed mountains for my purpose.
Wasted movements, not a style.
How cruel our gods to toss us so violently against each other’s lost and found.

 

SNAKE ROUND THE RIVERBEND

Rattled vehemently, core shook:
You’re a problem for me! Have I told you that?

I’m soaking pallets upon a riverbank, sogging up the scenery.
River scum backwards waving with the current.
Memory logs harbor kisses floating for the rapids.
Tepid sun touched florae wiggle on my wants.
Dam my tides so tubers don’t parlay my afternoon’s,
lazy pulling the preposition of overexposure.
Hungry, babe.
Toothless simile sucking liquid diets off the plastic upbringing hooked numb in your thumbs.
Please slap my gills. Please rake my beds.
Elevate my altitude best my tears become your waterfall.

 

‘PIPE DOWN,’ THE SINNER SAID

Strongstanced, proud in invisible blindfolds, pining my sunrise:
I’m a problem for you! Had you mentioned that?

Church nature in the pulpit of my apology.
My swoon marks the rot pulling out forest fairy comebacks from the floor of your cunnilingus.
Help me understand Mother Nature birthed metaphorical into daydreamed nightmares.
Reasonable to mention your irrationality but not my favoritism?
Typist on the mossy backs of real giants, I can only hope for the adage to be true—
north isn’t only a direction, better a hall pass to hell if you press far enough into history.
Muster up the courage to shout my saplings, root them down—
spittle the sunset dangling in my silence.

 

TWO CENTS IN A BUCKET OF SORROW

Oh rolling want for untouchable madness left basking under flameless suns:
We’re a problem for us! Have we confessed?

Milk heat from where I stand alone, pressed face first into humid paint.
Eyes close to the floor humming battle tunes.
Feel for me like yesterday’s newspaper kindling the fire.
Childish upon release we tumbled upon footpaths to avoidance.
Opposite each other, hands down, and no words spoken.
Oh, pleased, so pleased, there couldn’t exist better examples!
Refining separation anxiety in biological warfare, we nothing to lose,
coming undone in autonomous seclusion.

 

‘DEATH SITS WELL,’ HUMBLED A STENTOR

Efforts ceased creating exit wounds for us:
Failing at the future, most unapologetic! Where are you going?

Oh holy, godforsaken crust, baking without yeast isn’t going to please you.
Problematic our rise tossed over.
Distance on my answers, circumstance on your callbacks.
What world is there without art horses bellowing to the new stag?
Frayed man, empty your pockets. I loved you.
Saint my status in the blackest death calls you can give me
for the end pulls my hats off to your birthday suit.
Crumbling useless in mousy mouths, what purpose did we swerve?
Put out my light, snuff the whisper I place on your shoulders—
be the wind that blows out my candle right.
Midnight hours bell for us, a grave shared to mention.
Expose our undoing, reverse sentiments, how must we love?
Death holds us blind before each other, ready, quivering under the pressure.

Amie Norman Walker is a writer from Michigan. Find her in X-R-A-Y and Ash Tree Journal. She tweets @crawlintohabits.