Sometimes, I dress the dead. Salt-Sea-Shark. Venomous-Blind-Worm. Hell is murky as I walk in-between words. I starve in this echoing place. It aches before color begins. It’s not impossible that everything dresses itself in blonde. This interior is just a fly blur. You see – it’s on the periphery of perfume. Catch it and you’re fast alive.
You draw a cartoon of us –
a crescent heart between flowers
teetering like a giant hot dog.
There we sit, paper thin
under a star-moon, our
With immensity, we play
like little gates of heaven’s joy.
Your arm’s on the shoulder
of my fall sweater. Beneath
our work of existence, shoes
lifting the mud of leaf rot.
There’s a smell of polish.
It’s raw, this shadow wind
glimpse of a oak-soap tree.
A marvel’s been tapped, hoarded-
branch of a half-measured life
magnificent dare of consequence.
Double Anthem Decay
In the home of suicide
Unreasonable strangers form a long coffin
Skin so frail, a blade deepens
To slaughter my checkered-chess game
Now the basement bed is full of blood-sheets
Then there’s this turquoise lady
Stung by the stone-wall
Laughing her tragedy
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Droves of sweet blindness run foreign invaders down cobblestone pathways. There is no end. Today’s menu: an oscillating feather that directs the wind with no apparent moral to this story, except…die…
A little more about Martha Kinkade...
Martha Kinkade is a published author and poet-activist dedicated to promoting a peaceful and harmonious way of living. Her first book of poems, Winter's Light (2011), she writes about her experiences growing up in Wyoming and the detriments of a gun culture. Her poetry has appeared in Psychic Meatloaf, Jacksonhole Review, San Diego Writer’s Ink Anthology and The Mom Egg.