Monthly Archives: August 2015

~ 4 AM ~

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~4 AM ~

I’m not reading C.R. Avery in the bathtub,
Prostate-exam deep into the middle of the night,
Chainsmoking Djarum Specials because I am depressed.
Really, I’m a big mama burlesque queen holding court in Bubble Kingdom.
Some birds wash for the hell of it.

~ 4 AM ~

I left my heart and my phone charger in Vancouver.
I miss one more than the other.
The mountains were the headboard to our bed,
And the ocean was the wet spot on our sheets.
I really wish I remembered my phone charger.

~ 4 AM ~

There is a piece of mail that I never open.
That last Christmas card you sent me
Sits on top of my stereo between the case for Erykah Badu’s Live
And some seashells from a vacation I never went on.
It’s getting harder to remember the sound of your laughter.

~ 4 AM ~

It scares me that when I die,
No one will notice that I am gone.
Everything that I ever loved will end up in a dumpster.
Flowers will grow through my ribcage.
Tree roots will crack through my pelvis.

~ 4 AM ~

He told everyone that I was too sad.
I didn’t have his cocaine to rub into my love to make my heart numb.
I had confessed I had a fear of abandonment.
He said he would never leave, and it is true.
I still find bits of his lies wherever I go.

~ 4 AM ~

I’ve stopped writing love poems for people who don’t appreciate them.
Instead, in red lipstick on cocktail napkins,
I write “if you park on my street after 2 AM, you will get a ticket.”
It’s not romantic, but neither is a $30 fine at 4 AM.
And let’s face it: nobody is staying for my complementary continental breakfast.

~ 4 AM ~

Dried umbilical cords, resin, old teeth, feathers, and herbs.
Prayers, spells, chants, incantations, dirges, and degrees.
Psalmistry and palmistry.
Someone once asked if I was a good witch or a bad witch.
I said if they ever figured it out to let me know.

~ 4 AM ~

She writes me notes saying that she hopes that I am okay.
I don’t know how to tell her that at 4 AM,
Nothing is okay.
The only thing to look forward to is the contused eye of night
Finally fading into the orange-green bruise of dawn.

 

4-AM
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This work, “~4 AM~” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Black Light Beauty

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The important thing is not to leave a trace.

I empty the ashtray,
Clean the pipe,
Rinse out the wine glasses.

We touch, but leave no fingerprints.
Our kisses drift off our lips like stray eyelashes in warm, summer breezes.
You always leave after soaping me off your face and hands because I am the scene of your crime,
Your black light beauty,
The reason you flip the mattress and sleep in a t-shirt.

I burn cedar and sage,
Dump out the trash can,
Push bleach around the floor with a mop.

My apartment is tidy,
If you don’t look too closely.
My heart is pure,
Except for the gun powder burns.

It is as if we are never inside each others’ bodies,
Except for the DNA residue.
It takes forensic serology to place us together.

The important thing is not to leave a trace.

forensic evidence

Creative Commons License
This work, “Black Light Beauty” by Beth  is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.