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 Jan 2012 Tyler Maurer
The Year
Grown askew
Patched a few
Pricked by thistles
Thick in vine
Crawling out to see the light
Shivers at the break of night
Torn and hassled

Burnt, burnt

Wick is silent,
Witness none.
Crying out,
The deed is done.

Cold and conscious, lying still
Breathe in, breathe in.
Wisps that link the frozen ****
Deep and snowy candid gazes
Bursting flames,
Revealed in traces.
Chilled, chalk cold white touch
Remnants of  the old one's gruff.
he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and
terrorized
a white cross-eyed tailless cat
I took him in and fed him and he stayed
grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway
and ran him over
I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much
chance...give him these pills...his backbone
is crushed, but it was crushed before and somehow
mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at
these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets
are still there...also, he once had a tail, somebody
cut it off..."

I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the
hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom
floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he
wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it
and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any-
where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to
him and gently touched him and he looked back at
me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went
by he made his first move
dragging himself forward by his front legs
(the rear ones wouldn't work)
he made it to the litter box
crawled over and in,
it was like the trumpet of possible victory
blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I
related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that
bad but bad enough

one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and
just looked at me.

"you can make it," I said to him.

he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally
he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the
rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested,
then got up.

you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed
almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in
his eyes never left...

and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about
life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed,
shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look
at this!"

but they don't understand, they say something like,"you
say you've been influenced by Celine?"

"no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by
things like this, by this, by this!"

I shake the cat, hold him up in
the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows...

it's then that the interviews end
although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures
later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo-
graphed together.

he too knows it's ******* but that somehow it all helps.
 Jan 2012 Tyler Maurer
Mimi
Let’s just kiss and make something up.
It’s plain that I’m not sleeping enough
as a practiced insomniac you know,
and make coffee for us in the morning.

Last night we fell over laughing,
exhaling smoke I drawled,
“Everything in this kitchen it sticky”
everything.
For five minutes I think we laughed.

I made brownies.
You held me around the waist,
and spoke with your eyes.
 Jan 2012 Tyler Maurer
Ruby Flynn
on the outside, nobody'd ever known he was unhappy.
he had his mother's eyes, soft and blue,
reminded me of babies for some reason.
he used to pop in every now and then to give me the news,
gossip he'd heard at school that day,
the what-not.
i was real sick at the time, mama had to keep me hidden away sometimes,
ya know, i think she was a little ashamed seeing how it was a little her fault.
i didn't blame her for nothin' though.
anyways, he came and went as he pleased, nice boy he was.
used to wrap me up in a blanket and wheel me onto the porch so we could watch
the cars and the rich folk with dogs jog right on by, like they ain't never seen a girl with no hair
and a boy as handsome as he was.
we was a regular spectacle, a bonafide freak show,
and them people they always gonna talk, but he told me that the only people that listen are
the ones doin' the talkin', and that ain't us, so we ain't listenin'.
i didn't find out about his daddy until about a month after it happened,
for some reason people have a hard time telling someone who's dying that somebody died,
can you believe that?
he stopped comin' around so much after that, figured it was 'cause a his mama (with the eyes)
needin' extra help round the house.
weeks, maybe even a month went by 'fore i saw him again,
but he wasn't the same boy, and i sure as hell wasn't the same girl.
he looked at me, with them eyes, as if he'd just lost the lottery.
ya know, he sat me down and told me that he couldn't be around me no more,
seeing as how i was dyin' and all. ( i thought that was pretty dumb, i may be dyin' but i ain't dead yet)
he held my hand in his, his was a little clammy, i think 'cause he was so sad and all.
we sat there for a few minutes, hand in hand, thinkin' bout life and death, and the johnny carson show.
now, he never said nothin', but i think he loved me. i never got to find out the truth though.
he disappeared after that day, nobody heard from him, his mama was all outta sorts.
i think he left town, couldn't stand seein' people lookin' at him and me all the time,
the bonafide freakshow,
couldn't stand bein' round his broken mama.
doesn't really matter where he went off to, he was gone just the same.
some days, when im sittin' on the porch, wrapped up in a blanket, waiting to die,
i feel his clammy hand holdin' mine.
you see, when you don't have much left to live for,
it's people like him that save you.
 Jan 2012 Tyler Maurer
M Lundy
Sometimes, when I’m watching TV
Covered in my own filth
And feeling sorry for myself
I step in somebody else’s  shoes

I wonder how it feels to flip channels
Mindlessly, (a viewer expecting no harm)
and stumble upon a show that’s called…
****, I can’t remember.
featuring some reporter
whose name I can’t recall
but it’s not important,
and this reporter is sitting in some ****** hotel room,
when in bursts a gentleman dressed in a
***** red trucker’s hat
hunter’s vest
plaid shirt
worn jeans
and boots
who’s just arrived to claim the virginity of a 12 year old girl
who’s sold it to him on the internet and he’s travelled all this way
only to find a camera crew and that reporter
from 20/20 or some **** like that
waiting to catch him.
And they’ve caught him and it’s the third time
he’s pulled this
and now he’s exposed for the world to see
and they hate him and I hate him too.

I wonder how it feels to be you, viewer
who was molested in the 3rd grade
by your 23 year old step-brother
who had already ruined 4 other kids lives
and now this show, you feel, has just exposed you for
all the world to see
because you feel ***** walking down the streets
and the hottest shower on earth couldn’t get you clean
and your scar has been lashed open, fresh once again
and you used to love chocolate milk but now you want gin
and the first bite contorts your face into a distorted grin,
you don’t even like it but it does the job
keeps the powder dry
keeps any tears from escaping your eyes
you want to let your boyfriend touch you but you can’t
because he has hands and hands do bad things

I realize that what pity I have is generally
Wasted
on myself.
I am selfish.
I won’t be anymore.
Copyright 2010 M.E. Lundy
"Help me," I cry

My monster is watching.
No one hears your screams, you know. Except for me.


I beg for mercy, but he tightens his grasp.
Every part of me wants to fight back.
But with every swing I take, I'm wasting away.

How strong are you now?
He continues to taunt.
Hold on, I dare you to.
The monster knows my pain.


With one final push I open my eyes.
It's eating me alive, I can feel it.
It's destroying me from inside.
By now I'm gasping for air,
But I keep getting pulled back under.

This time, the monster laughs.
He knows I'm through.
His fist is wrapped around my body,
Ready to crush me.
My journey was made long and torturous.
For cruel entertainment.


I start to give up.
The darkness is sliding back over me.
It won't take much to shatter what I have left.
I'm already broken.
I relax, ready to welcome death and the comfort it brings.
One last breath I take, and my life becomes
A flat line.
This is actually written about a relapse, but I tried to make it kind of like a struggle, or a fight between two sides.
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