H.E-1.2.3

Close your eyes, this is gonna sting a little.

The morning will come 
with echoes of brevity.
A mordant threat; 
lacking my gravity

 omen in my chest
 won't allow me to speak.
My haphazard surgery. 
Soul starving; body weak.

I unravel once more
 Implantation for Anima
Thought I could fix this.

 But gone is my stamina

Hope weakens with time
and hope are  my stitches

best to put this to an end,
 Fuck sleeping in ditches
my silent immutable voice, 

try to deny my freedom
Don't I have a choice? 
This is prison!

 not me, never. not in ages. 
Stuck marching in line? 
I've been in those cages
I've served all my time.

 You want peace; 
you Speak of love.
 dry and dark well where
they shot down your doves!?

You said you're  Thirsty - 
Bitch- take it to a jury, 
I have been the  Sahara 
 the end and the beginning.

You heard the verdict in 
Creaking branches; Listen to truth; 
I'm still swinging, I'm that strange fruit.

 So you snack on hell's delight
God is a liar; your heaven's corrupt. 

Knock, Knock knocked up with a tick, tick tock; 
Qu'est-Ce Que la patience?
 Laughable virtue I never did have.

in comes the night, ending  in cadence;

So come now, come to me  fast,
Drench me in red; clothe me in black.
 first, carve a great circle
upon my bare back.

Aim for  the center; A swift inverted V
through the middle, elongated slash,
Be decisive and hear my scream.

In anarchy, in death,  welcome the past.
See me bleed, same as you? I've bled! We Bleed!
A whisper comes with hopes final gasp,

Look at bloodied trails! Walk our own path.
"once my darling, It was very much Alive",
In anarchy, in death; we have met our past.

 Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen.

Such Is The Pain...

Dedicated To My Psychic Father,

 Happy Birthday David Robert, Bowie Knife In My Pocket.

I see her again.

She is all there is left;  of shattered and seventeen.

There is a sound of a baby's whimpering, it comes from a room very near to the one she sits in.

She is staring straight ahead.

Her shoulders begin to tremble.

Her chest begins to rise and fall more rapidly; she sucks in all the air, contorts her face as she grits her teeth so hard they nearly crack and crumble.

Then her eyes close as she folds into herself and her whole body began to quake. 

She stays just this way for a small while.

When she lifts her head up once more, 

you see then that her eyes are bleeding;

they must be.

For she does not cry;

Not ever.

The blood red rivers of sorrow,

 of rage.

The Niagara falling; disillusionments despair.

Monsterous monsoon of shame and terror.

Tis’ only the bloodshed of a warrior.

 Now she bows her head puts her arms out to either side and grips the cushions of the sticky faux leather couch and all you see is the quaking girls blonde cropped hair covering bleeding eyes. 

I think I heard her say something as she tries to build the dam again. 

What was it?

A barely audible, 

“Please?

Help?

Why?

God? “

Her strange language.

The babe’s sobs had grown louder as if the chord that tied him to her in utero was still intact. Her head jolts up and she is slamming and pounding those final bricks into their proper place.

Her stronghold,

Her barricade,

Her ancient dam is back up as quickly as it had been knocked down.

She slashes her palms across her face beneath her eyes.

Not wiping away tears.

Never.

This must be her war paint.

She takes a breath in and holds it as she puppeteers her body upward with an unforeseen, formidable strength. 

Once standing she marches toward the whimpering before it becomes an inconsolable battle cry.

She breathes out, but only once she reaches his crib and sees him holding onto the rails trying to balance,, his chubby knees buckling. 

He is not quite one year in a body of his own.

She smiles; 

A faint yet genuine smile and runs one fingertip under her eye.

“What’s wrong? What is it, my silly boy?”

He wobbles his way to face the sound of his Mother’s beautiful voice he knows so well; he is the only one that ever really heard it.

They make eye contact, and for a moment, all was becalmed.

When she lifted him up and out of his crib, felt the warmth of his breath against her neck, closed her eyes, listened to that breathing and as her lips touch to kiss the golden crown of his head, they linger there

within his silken strawberry blonde hair. 

She inhales deeply his secret message.

She brings his face gently to her own and holds him there;

skin to skin.

She contemplates a response and then whispers in his ear…

‘I know my beautiful boy, I know.’

Silence for a moment,  another few breaths calming herself and calming her child. 

Then with an assured tone of voice and a look of certainty she continues,

“I love you.

I love you so very much.

“You are my prince and one day…

One day, I know, that I will be your queen.

I will be a great queen, I promise. You’ll see...

Then, one day…

You will be a King.“

She allows one steady crimson rivulet 
to trickle from her eye.

Binding their ivory cheeks in blood.

Mary Catherine,  Cowardice Queen

Just Me and Mr. X

"Family" is a loose term where I came from. I wish It wasn't so. 

Wish your way to fluffy clouds in the sky- Hold your breath.... and you'll get there. Keep holding. Fight your natural instincts, always! 

You will get your marshmallow sky. 

Did anyone else notice my mother always has and still to this day, 

in her wise old age:  SAYS DUMB SHIT: 
For Instance-

"YOU'RE MY LE - LE GIRL!" and "VOTE TRUMP!" 

But it's all forgiven because the "DUMB BROAD" means well.

That was Father's pet name for her. 

So Sweet! 

"YA DUMB BROAD!"

Right. She did the best she that she could...

Must forgive, you must.

Now, wait just one second! 
Perhaps it has always been a ploy, 

a manipulative skill she developed as the result of having a 

BIG STRONG DRUNKARD, 

U.S ARMY DADDY.

"Steady as stagger Frank."

My Grandmother said real cool shit. 

She was Sharp. A Sassy Dame. 

She would have been a real gun moll if...

Frank didn't come back from his helicopters! 

Salute! 

 Heil, Mein Führer! 

GOD BLESS AMERICA! 

Ahem. 

Excuse me I seem to have been choking for some time... 

My Grandmother was a real WOMAN. You know what I mean by a real woman? She had Jazz: Like Marlene or Bettie Davis. That jazz. 

She is laughing with me, she laughs at fools & she laughs at the absurd. 

She, however, is polite so you can't hear her... NOT ME!

So- Where were we? Right,

FRANK the "man" man (a father) and one-two-three older brothers, 

then out leaks this weak and sickly little squeak toy, squeaking 

"Don't hurt me! I'm so very small, Help me! I'm Powerless!" 

The Child that is my mother. 

She didn't even earn that title "Mother"

I AM CESARIAN!!! Brother is too 

The Titles.

Upper !! Mother Fucker.

He sawed her open to let me, a full grown fetus, out of that fucking uterus. 

Oogie boogie boogie! Hey, would ya look at that! 

I'm still bloody and pissed the fuck off almost thirty-one years later. 

Phew! (PRO-LIFE. WOOHOO!) 
Thank you Doc!

"God Bless" the U.S ARMY and all our fathers, my father, ghost man, ash man, carbon man, ( Shhh, they say I've got a wicked tongue...) 
My mother told me as much when I was a small child. 
Evil, mean, wicked; some of her favorite terms of endearment for the 1992 space-time version of me
Oh and lest we forget; Trump. yes, yes, we're all forgiven. 
Go Play With The Control Machines... 
Poor Mitchell. He is lost to me. You have kidnapped his personality too. 

For What??!!

All the family you had, the years you lived for free, warm, safe, with tons of spare time, more than one free sitter to choose from, like your brother in law in New York. 

(Who, I think is a good person. I hope I'm right for Mitchell and Devin's sake) 
He offered to help you get into a trade or go back to school... tsk, tsk! 

How do you look my children in the eye? 
I've been Wondering that. 

 I know I could. 
I know what the Fuck I Did and didn't do. 

Some things are impossible to forget, such is the pain...
 

 While you sat smoking pot,crunching  Lay's potato chips, drinking Coca-Cola: 

 A living advertisement for Everything I Hate. 

A putrid infectious growth from the furniture or the woodwork; your sibling's couches and in their basements.
What a shame. What a waste. 

Living as if you were the teenager- but you weren't, were you?
 

WHAT A SHAM you've got going!
SOME FUCKING LIFE THEY HAVE. 

The father provides, the father provides. THE FATHERS DIVIDE! 

You like math, providing much? Certainly not financially, but the real deficit in your provisions; 

You Neglect Them. In every way that there is a name for. 

Wikipedia that you pathetic monster.

 Go see what a great job you're doing. 

There I go again, damn. Silly me, I must get that from my mother. 

These useless thoughts.  But hey now! They say I have a way with words! 

That's real nice. Some say words like Forgiven. I gave up. Forgiven? 

SSSin like a snake... I Sin! Sinning and slithering my way to that ol' river. 

What river? The East River. East River Park, near the Seventh street bridge. 

Up and over- Timbo, watch me fly. 

My brother knows. He knows a great many things, I love him.

 I love my children, but far too much.

 Do You See? Do You Get It? 

GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR FUCKED! 

I digress, whoops. 

Words are only words, right? 

Tell them that their mother was sane, played the piano, she was in her second year at Smith through the Ada Comstock Scholars Program when she died tragically, 

the exact same way as Isadora Duncan. 

Give em that, will ya?

Then, I can have a little lie,

I really want one too.

There's my fucking Eulogy.

- Mary Catherine.

Decennial of Depravities

Raise your glass

Hoist the flags

In the bygone celebratory fashion.


Onslaught-


let it go girl

endure girl

suffer girl

shatter girl

glue girl

persevere girl 

treacheries girl

sidewalks girl

down in your place girl

crawl beg lie steal girl

mother fucking fiend girl

you get the fuck up and march girl

Debased-

a decade's depravity

arrogant willful 

no god damn idea

child.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice  Queen

This Dark Fall

It's over

I own it

It’s mine.
O Dark

November

Of two thousand sixteen-

A dead zone

Talk to me!

Where am I

Can't you hear Me?

Dreamt I was in hell

I can't leave it

I woke up

I’ll do anything for it

Opened eyes

Cracked mind

I am alive

No tears or saliva

Only raw

Cold blood

It’s filthy

Dry

Heart brain skin and teeth;

Far too sweet

Braced for impact

I adore it

One thundering beat

I’m staying
Shouting

Victory!

I’ll never leave

I’ve been here before

It’s inside me

Doorway's here

It’s so cruel

Closed

I open it

I have it

I see now

I love it
For the first time

This living lie
The shoe fit

I own it

It's mine.

O Dark

November

Of two thousand sixteen-
Can't you hear me?

The darling of the dead

It’s over
I own it

It’s mine!

-Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen