I bit my lip today
Rolling soft, pink flesh
Into my mouth
A solitary drop of blood
Pealed across my tongue
Tastebuds shocked
By electric strangeness
How is it so easy
To forget the flavour
Of one’s own
Mortal ichor
An artery may be cut
Irreparable damage
Summons life’s force
Welling into bright sunlight
Final curtain drop
Mere moments away
An unknowable exchange
Occurs in the span
Between vitality and death
Magic realism builds a cosmos
Where extraordinary is mundane
And the mundane extraordinary
We trod about
Our current world
Hovering in the pregnant pause
Between banal reality
And world war three
Senses dulling in preparation
For atrocity’s tally
It feels extraordinary
To pay taxes
Mow our lawns
While we wait
A hecatomb ripe for sacrifice
Poised on knife’s edge
Prepared to irrevocably sever
Individual consciousness
Only those inside
A liminal space
Know how it feels
But they do not know
What it means
As a child
I was taught to believe
Blood belongs
Only to god
A handful of decaying scriptures
Declare it sacred
Oblation seeping into soil
Cruor blackens fine dust
Obliterating awesome fractions
Through simple desiccation
My soul is adamant
Grace is found
In sharing one’s own essence
To save another
Earth does not shout
For exsanguination
She is content
To cradle our bones
In quiet stillness
I can conceive
A vast and sublime universe
Yet I may only
Perceive reality
With mere eyes
Projected images invert; brain’s
Attempt at making sense
Of nonsensical facts
And fatuous violence
When it is all over
After clear, vivid sight
Fades permanently to black
Perhaps that is when
Luminous revelations unfold
Understanding dawns
And I will finally know
After all this time
What my blood
Was really worth
About the Creator
Aspen Marie
In love with life and all of its foibles.
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Where's the Glory?
In breaking news, rehabilitated Republican Senator Johnnie Johnson (Pronouns: HE, HIM, HIS) called a press conference from the Men’s room of the New Orleans Louis Armstrong International Airport, Concourse B, across from the Ignatius Reilly’s Lucky Dog stand. The Senator had just returned from a sexual reorientation rehabilitation program in Memphis, TN after being publically disgraced at a Buckee’s Truckstop restroom soliciting sex from an undercover cop three months ago. He is a founding member of the Reformed Christians for Christ, a conservative, pro-family and ex-gay advocacy group. In the spirit of being reborn, Senator Johnson invited reporters to marvel at his plans for a major remodeling of airport bathrooms.
By Cathy Schieffelin6 days ago in Humor
Comments (5)
Um. so. this was stunning. love those first few lines and the thoughts I share about the oddness of not being overly familiar with the taste our own blood. then you breathlessly, purposefully muse on blood being sacred as are lives, and how we should make the most of them. so that the blood we spill was not in vain! thank you for directing me to it! love it! well done!
That line about blood being sacred really stayed with me. Beautifully written.
Marie, there's so many lines I want to quote and say how amazing each one is and how hard they hit, but this comment would turn into an essay if I listened to my brain 😭 But I must say the flow, the message of mortality from a simple bitten lip, the word choices - it's freaking superb! And those final lines are for the soul. 💛 Also, are you a photographer as well as an artist and writer? Your photos always look so calculated (for want of a less mechanical word, lol 😂)
"Earth does not shout For exsanguination" Those were my favourite lines. Gosh your poem hit so hard. I loved it!
Marie, this is one of my absolute favorite poems you’ve ever written. I love the gorgeous language and references to Green mythology while contemplating our mortal realities, what to be grateful for, and how to find meaning even within the seemingly desolate. ♥️♥️