She made me dance on broken glass
waiting for the coup de grâce
she ran away and kissed a toad,
whilst I got stuck on a yellow brick road
the lion and the tin man started to cry
the scarecrow supped on a bottle of rye
click my heels and reach for the moon
watch her choke on a silver spoon.

I have kissed you in many mouths

I have tasted you
but not found you
you’ve been elsewhere
the curl of your tongue
forming a ribbon in wind

the cut of your hair
tied into shapes
I could make with my hands

your voice
breezes in phrases
I’ve reached for
their possible echo

I have waited to bend you
into my smile, how
my mouth has made its reasons
for wanting the shape
of your name

and the marriage of words
I have learnt
just to speak of you

I have called for you
devoured air for you
devoured my name
and not found you

are you there friend
now or waiting
or passing as a ribbon in wind
curling slowly
to the tip
of my tongue



MChallis © 2014

every boy that has ever ran his fingers on my skin
crawled up from under my bed and invaded the darkness;
he pulled the blanket up over my shaking body,
and brushed his fingers through my tangled hair.

a creature of the night providing me comfort;
he laid his head on the empty side of my pillow
whispering into my hollow head,
signals which would flow through my dry veins
and start the pumping of a disintegrating heart.

his demons kept him awake at night
just as the monsters of my past have me;
his eyes were like a flashlight in the dark room,
this creature was my savior.

but morning comes and he is gone,
my troubles glisten in the sun -everyone runs.
you can't fix by morning what haunts you;
I only date monsters -they keep me company at night;
when my flaws come spilling out but not in bright light.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

I know they all talk about me,*
He mutters.
Whenever I'm home sick, they
Say that I'm never at work.
That I'm always late.
That I do a bad job.

I look down into my coffee.
We talk about him, all right.
As soon as he takes a sick day,
We know he'll be back the next.
Pale with lingering fever.
Wet with sweat.

We speak of how he's always
At work. Hardly ever comes in
Less than an hour
Before us others.
How he pours his whole self into
Any job he's given. Always.

He would never choose to
Believe me, so I change the subject.
Each man his own attitude.
Funny how the brain keeps
Blaming the heart for
Its feelings.

Rain drumming on car's roof,
Its millions of fingers
Poking at the eyes of busy windshield-
Wipers.
I love driving with you.
Radio classic rock.
Shopping bags releasing their
Contents to dance around in
The back of my van

As I leave the roundabout in
Third gear; its back wheels
Slipping on the wet asphalt.
As always.
I love driving with you.
You hold on and giggle.
I know these rural roads like
The back of your hand.

I clown driving, you shotgun
Laugh at my silliness
As I slow down at my
Exit.
I love driving with you.
People speak better in cars.
Might be, that one part keeping
Eyes on the road lightens the
Conversation.

I've never been lied to
With a steering wheel in my hands.

she was a single mother,
mother of three,
children had no father figure
all of them had to grow up trying
to figure out what father means to them.
she was tired of men whistling and tripping
over her big behind.
see, she held on her hands a university degree
seems her life was stuck on day volunteering
and night waitressing.

all she ever wanted was a man who would
sweep her off her feet and be a leader to her
kids.

no luck, all she ever met were *******,
pimps and hustler all who had the intention
to bust a nut on her.

so the black unicorn sang, mama i need
your prayers, mama i need God's hands.
pray for me again, again and again.

night light's light shines too bright on
these electricity bills and the landlord
dont even care how she feel.
said, "if you laid on this table any time for me, you
wont need to worry about the rent, boo"
so she did it.

every time he touched her, he ripped off
parts of her spirit.

so the black unicorn sang, in jazz clubs while
the kids stayed with grandma. she sang
a piece of mind just to get a peace of mind.

she was tired of being told she was beautiful
because every finger laid on her was a *******
to her beautiful skin, queen.

she was tired of "im not ready","its not you, its me".
she was tired of wearing her heart on her sleeve.

The Black Unicorn still sings.

Seeds of pure Brahma appear
In the dark nothingness.

In their infinitesimal
Yet infinite dimensions
They carry the code for all creation.

Some fade away.
Some persist.
Propelled through will,
An urgency to occupy and diffuse.

Annihilation or coalition are inevitable.

Some acquire magnificent tinges
Worthy of acknowledgement.
Others marred and maimed
Are left to wither in exile.

I meditate on the most promising one.
Feel its inarticulatable essence
As the intangible element
Vanquish the void.

The One now unfolds.
Accreting into thoughts
Before passing through
The sieve of judgement.

These thoughts sublime I crystallize.
Choosing at will to blemish them
With motley emotions
Or monolithic reason.

I,
The creator,
Awestruck by my own creation,
The most magnificent in the domain
Wherein I reign supreme,
Hesitate.

I hesitate to articulate.
Knowing full well that tongue
Will never be able to bear
The simple complexity
And the complex simplicity
Of thought.