Mary Elizabeth

Mary Elizabeth say git up girl
stop sittin' round like spilled whisky

Wrinkles had melted into thick blades carressing the lining of her forehead
There were effortless indentations channeled into both cheeks that 
fostered her past regalness
Her underskirts smelled of "Evening in Paris"
which was little more than a rank smell of rubbing alcohol and pressed flowers

She had named herself after a flower
Violet
She liked the hidden fruit of it
Sweet Violet veiled in her tea and syrup
She was Violet - Aphrodite's sanctified flower
She was Violet consecrated

She was sugar on the floor
Gritty
Sticky
Sacrosanct

Mary Elizabeth say
She was born Brazilian chocolate
Too pretty to cover from summer's sun
Or winter's cold
Royalty

She was an invention of love - like prayer
She was passion suffering
An offering to joy
Violence moving past caress
She was supernatural moving by tongue

Mary Elizabeth say git up girl
You are my dwelling
The place where my eyes rest
This is not the day to bury love
There is no eulogy swelling in my mouth

Mary Elizabeth say git up girl
You my sugar
Hallowed, holy and blessed
Brazilian Chocolate
Too pretty to cover from summer's sun
My sugar
The olive of my oil
Git up girl
Mary Elizabet say git up!




   

Prey

                                                                                                                    
The acoustics screamed the songs of love which become weak with each turn of the record player.

The lyrics were biting as they filled themselves fat with sourness and like the eyes of one dead, they
had to be shut closed by an outsider.

It was as if he, the conscious dead; had waited in cured blood for some other spirit's arrival,
companship for his mocking cheerfulness.

The trace of an orchid shadowed his neck, a goiter, he spoke not a sound
a trapper of wild things
he moved guardedly towards his prey
he would have her to himself,
all to himself!

Just as he waited in aggravated pause to touch the loveliness of her back, she turned and was
off to some twitch of a sound
a voice echoed by aged decay elevated from a back corner of the room
He'd heard that dynamic range of envelopment before, its uniqueness wafting slowly around him
then melting
up again
then thawing
then cooling

Mother, a slight gasp escaped his delicately parted lips
His thoughts were trapped like a slapped crazy rodent
he slid shivering
his tail between his legs through the outhouse doors of his mind
while grasping at air
Yes, it was mother's voice. 
But she was dead or was he?