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My Hidden Muse

Maria Morisot

Published by Moan Lisa Press

© Maria Morisot


the life-link to my entire watch;

and the purpose for expository sums.

We thread these symbolic strands

of light; submerge our heads

beneath a field of electricity.

Delight comes in magnetic storms;

that shake our blood,

that carry us back to shore.

At the horizon’s staring eye;

we turn into our graves;

dusting off our shoes,

and stepping in bare foot

after bare foot. Realizing

in small samples of the past,

what sins lay at our feet.

Hereditary strings pull me under

and beneath the tide; this cruel wind

shaking the root of my desire.

I want to plant my feet

and find; how beautiful

the sun comes up,

how dissonant against

the darkness of

my life’s torn edges

and missing pages.

And I sigh.

Across the galaxy,

into the universal sink;

meditating on death

and resurrection.

Disease; incarceration.

Flit fantasies; fleeting

perceptions derived

from following

the tangent line.

Beneath me, and inside my soul;

this cavity of extreme continuation

curves and climbs to heights

where only you may touch.

In low regard,

do we call each

other’s names?

Waiting while the war

brings us to our sullen end,

and a fantasy of morbid

paralysis contaminates

my thoughts.

Clear blue skies.

And I am drowning

in the lake I call “Desire,”

fallen in, a not-so-gentle

suicide of sorts.

Hoist me.

Moisten my lips

and listen to

the whistling.

In this imaginative

existence; where we plot

each other's defenseless query,

into alternative interpretations

of altered youth,

We bring a static song,

delinquent frames of film;

a tusk, a diorama of God's


Fishnets and fire,

and an absolute

reminder of my pain,

tucked away beneath

a cloak of ecstasy.

Beneath your flame,

burning at the edges

of my sanity.

Pointing sticks towards the sun,

restless and wounded;

nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.

Asking favors in incomplete sentences,

opening up resistance's cloth,

and burning the insides;

to dust, to dust. And the motionless

fever abides as we rest,

burned to oblivion.

Draw me out like poison;

from this well of incoherent dreams,

and prick yourself

with my illusions,

within the cavity

of my constructed

cerebral space.

Through the years,

I've held this close

to my chest.

While you pick at

and while you pry;

The body of my desires

claims close company.

In these dissonant

winds of respiration,

with water and ash

combined in a cloth

of addictive trust;

Your song the sum

whose body resonates

in mine.

What words are these

that mingle with mine?

Can such a cohabitation

exist past the striking of the hour?

I want to set foot down,

to understand this

heaving mass beneath me,

Whose sockets

determined as they are

to see, yet still believing

is left in the sounds

of the soul. Foot falls falling

piercing our beds;

Passion's fire


our existence.

In these tokens of a drifting mind,

as set to music inaudible;

I throw my anchor down,

down into the raging sea,

and solve her delicately

moving mind.

When Earth's compass

fails to steer us home,

we're lost in incoherent

measures of matter;

Her isolated crown

devours my right hand,

leaving emptiness instead

to guide us.

And only fate knows

the outcome; only death

knows the end.

Hours in asylum's cold enclosure;

feeding the mind with words,

with bits and pieces of assembled script,

lacking motivation to return to the land

where people pray and eat and sleep,

and dream.

I can hear you

outside, beyond

the dumpsters

in the alleyway,

beyond light;

and beyond time.

An indiscrete collection

of silent words,

spent with ink

for your eyes

to pour over.

The volume of this

seizure of sin and

reproductive flame,

parallel to your

quiet incantations

in the night.

Short inhalations,

where oxygen pools

in the blood.

And you're sitting next to me,

stirring. The bruises split

into scars and the ebb and flow

of my synthetic love sings hymns

too dissonant a sound to hear,

it would swallow our sunset

and drown the ashes of our fusion.

In this disharmony, I can conjecture

while staring out into the sea,

I'd sink. I am sinking.

With water up to my shoulders;

neck deep in this transaction.

treading in the depths

of her mysteries.

I want to touch you,

to draw your lips

within the bounds

of permeable space.

To see you smile;

and then bend down

for flip-flops' fitted forms.

Who would take whose

hand and spin the other

out the door?

Where fire bleeds upwards

towards the stars,

and in each other's arms

we watch the night pass.

But there's a plastic film

before us; a barrier

with circumference

of the world. We're split

and factored in form;

a depression pushed

into the sand.

Sea foam



voices from the

ocean's tide.

Her words,

rotated about

and tested for


Bitten into.

But blood

and teeth

saliva seeps.

And the raw,


flavor of



Ashes in the sand.

Will you watch with me,

the night? And can we plan

our cinematic score;

recursive sunsets spiraling

through the open door to Hades?

As mirrors

in the plane

repel our


as sepulchers


in short steps

burn the lids

of sanity's


So we strike the chord

of irreplaceable condition

consoling one another

with the sure footing

of our gravity's despair.

Only surrounding these thick walls;

where glass protrudes and iron

with her rusted roots;

She seized me there,

within her garden of

contention; blocked my way

into the vast expanse of space.

And I go thinking,

is there another link

to my depression?

Can I fly

into the never mind

of my intentions?

Listless and wanting

to be broken apart;

to trust the terror,

and let my limbs

lie still...

As the injection

fills my mind

with visions

of angels

and demons

warring over me.

Nonconstructed deity pulled

into a ring around our well;

piece by piece, attached.

Where slivers of the day

skew our misperceptions

of each other's face;

and as you sleep,

the room divides.

Corners fold.

In heaven somewhere,

the angels are burning

in the fusion of hydrogen

into helium. In heaven

somewhere; our prayers

are dust and ash,

returning through

Earth's atmosphere.

You dressed yourself

in ribbons, and in flame;

and made yourself

presentable and pretty.

Exposing your fears

to the fire in my eyes;

whetting my appetite.

I solely speak

in this tone to you;

robber of the dead.

Shifting phrases

and masking my


Too taut to

represent our

mirrored masks,

the line we've

drawn into


of a midday


What colossal fields

of inspiration shine;

as the sun expires,

and that light trapped

within the soul; bursts.

Two dormant bodies,

layered in a sticky

film of dried glue become

one undiluted mask

of thoughtful pose

and expression.

Burning bodies;

wondering if the

other can coalesce.

Two intrinsic sources

of revelation and sin;

made manifold by

a kiss of faith.

It was three roses that

split my mind in two;

chloroform fragrance

and a spiraling shift

towards the center of

the galaxy.

Her heaving breast,

my malicious eye;

and the fountain of

our intercourse

sustains insipid lies.

Edit this ensemble

with me, mute my

melodies, transpose

the integrals of my


I love how you

stir my inner longings;

and satisfy my

dream’s request.

If you surrendered to me,

while the wolves howled;

and through the glass walls

where we create our gravity,

a constant coefficient of

companionship relaxes us.

Would you want to place

your head upon my wrist,

write. Relax and write;

let others reinterpret all

our varicose dreams.

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