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Moral Maps Street View Marla Immaculata
______________________________

From washed driver's hands
that are kept where a Dispatcher can hear them...

dirty deeds
and the resurrecting grace
of disgraceful things
we just accept
as they are held under a soulful light.

Because lucrative loins are an in-extractable force of nature

and despite ourselves
BEING ourselves

we are all hoping to aid our
disheveled fellow man
our bulging feathered glands
our useless wives
our sexless lives...

to help
more than we hinder.

"NO YOU'RE NOT!"
-says a Seasoned Public Servant from a blind alley

"We meant well..."
-says a Politicial Campaign Manager waving an OB ki

Things to Do While the Sky is BlueHope
is a kite sore
from stringy, clingy steering

High winds
rashing up the cheeks
knotting one hair to another

but we smile and run
smile and run...

Loose-shoe goose
with bugs in the grin

keep your eyes up
and the sky comes with you

Full circle
is a skinned knee
from stringy, singy flight

Barnacle Bills.

In a river of consequential roe
a twinkling wake
of what could have been
if only lapped and unlept for

Puddle Chiefs
& Splash Commanders,
pissed and slippy Sallow Mandors ~
The spawn of loaded brawn
and murmuring maid

Chummed-up wind
floats all downstream
Running the muck
ad'mired
It is in fin'nity
that scales are lost
and tails are tossed as heads

Carpe-diem
Carp of deeds
Barned n' Culled
your moated seed

Row the roe
and tow that boat
for life is but a stream

.

Diner PinersUnkempt gents minding their own
and the scraggly hags that avoid them;
walls
more see-through than windows they occupy
are these newspapered ghosts with addendums.

Wiley beards and crooked brassieres
are met with smirking resolve
as origami halos from non-absorb napkins
form a moot youth that dissolves.

A perfect coffee
stains the yap
they'll never live long enough to brighten
while personification's memory
pays towards the tab;
a slow-moving bullet much like them.

Those Rabis & Witches
dress their last days
in mothy green tweeds and cat hair
in hopes of hands-free spiritual exchange
as much as they both hate to be there.

Those Open Casket AffairsPropped and cropped beyond warmth and lividity
looking as natural as possible

Easily achieved
if the goal is to represent death

and those passed away
look no other way

no matter what you do

It's this tradition of feigning life
that's wrong with the world
on both sides of mortality.

Patchy CatchHis cool approaches, light and tickle-floppy
were like a room full of crisp wet lettuce when I didn't want anything to eat
so I took my clothes off and rolled around in it instead- sweating onions.
Lazy.
Laying face up, I was blowing at the big veiny leaves I'd laid over my eyes
which I found could absorb fever!
Babbleage cabbage
... and it waved away all the thoughts that were not of him.
I saw things through shady emerald eyes as winds came to curl at my sides.

I started thinking about cheese sandwiches.
I wanted to be one.
Then I got up and wrote a poem about all the things I needed squeezed from my filthy pores.

I missed my

FacetsI met a man
who had no clothes
He was in the business
of making
buttons.

With my fishing string
and silver ring
He met me
when I needed
nothing.

A bullet-holed square
made of wood
made with care
arrived in the mail
today.

I met a man
who had no clothes
He was in the business
of making
the connection.

Air Conditional It
was one of those
sultry summer sufferings

salt
on the skin
sulfur
in the wind

and every uncased candle
sagged
leaning to see how the butter on the counter was making out.

At a thousand degrees
SatYourRated Fat
while our comparative waxes boiled

Your hopping fly
to my sticky eye

where all of a sudden
yellow
is a bad color for a kitchen

Sweaty couples
in ignitable puddles
were boats without rudders

The Blue Abyss
missed us

ANY match would be lethal in this weather

Gold Leaves GatherIce and hurricanes told me that it was better to be dead.
Well I knew that, but there'd been no official reports
until they'd shown me footage of exactly how people were happy underground.

Snails and wine told me that the water was rising.
Well I knew that, but there'd been no official reports
until they'd shown me footage of exactly how people drown in their sleep.

Cups of tea and worse weather told me angels don't talk shit.
Well I knew that, but there'd been no official reports
until they'd shown me footage of exactly how people were saved well past damnation.

Demons and aggression told me I was loved unconditionally.
Well I kn

Axe OilThick and rich comes that filth
Pools of negativity from me
And a mouth as foul as zoo fruit

Baby's first words
Smelling like both ends

Leaky World War Sponge in
Unadoptable Adorable

Devil's Ad...
Vogue Kit

How not so tired I would be
If everything I'd ever felt
Wasn't 43 like me

.

Canaries of CoalUndertaker

Your Scratch & Snatch Pursuit ~
The Skin-of-the-Teeth
you collect
be the Root of Victim's victim

an unwise slice of dice

a roll of buried bread

a Life

that resembles
unleavened
Progress and Product

lies in salted doughy knots
and here, you think you can rise them.

Kneading the Needy ~
Those who would sign over deeds
and these same widows wander
into processions not their own

Acid activations
upon bare bones, be a solvent
to cracked open flesh th

Luxury LashSwiftly following the announcement,
"I'M HOME, BEAUTIFUL!"

Kedron fell forward, nearly on his face
with his arms completely full of paper bundles and each finger committed to a loop-handled task.
A defenseless hit to the hardwood floor.

He laid there for a moment,
a lengthy-boned rag doll suffering flashbacks of mobility logistics.

There, at the front door threshold, some painfully angular items were now crushed underneath him,
while other lighter objects were strewn across the hallway.
He'd had at least eight plastic bags in tow, plus his 'shopping backpack' strapped on,
each thing weighing about five to eleven pounds easily.

The Kitchen Key If someone broke into their home and stole their oven
along with every dish in their cabinets, neither one of them would notice for weeks.

They ate quite often, but cooking, when it happened, usually involved the roof, or her experimental set of glass beakers.

The pair had better things to do then die from scheduled domestic cancers.
Kedron was out on one of his supper time head-soaking walks about the neighborhood.
Marla was home and had just finished coming out of a thirty-second trance... her sixtieth one of the day, in fact.

Her deal? Well, that self-cloning sun-smooched drop of water threatening to pull itself
off

Spell Book - Tappings Chp.VIIILittle Brown Mouse
Come in! Come in!
Warm your bones
and fluff what's thin

You'll be received
Oh, never leave!
We're here to help and haul

Show us what you've fought to brought
Your ticks and tricks and all...

Umber Louse does smile and bounce
when crumbs are thrown at walls

Not for you, but take what's due
Fit for Vermin... all.

Thou Shalt Not Fall"I should have never told her the truth...", Kedron kept repeating in hunched inaudible mumbles.

Marla, being Marla, even in her spirit form-
it would have been highly likely she'd still be standing motionless in the rain for another week after hearing the news;
still poised by her own grave site wondering how she could've possibly misunderstood every detail of the event.
How was it that she died in the bed struck by fever when it was Kedron
whose eyes were half open with a lifeless hand draped over her that foggy May morning?

These dusks and dawns... these clockwork hauntings they shared meant the world to Marla
so in lig

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Crown of Golden Brown

by *TheMadMulatto, Dec 23, 2012, 7:27:53 AM
Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Philosophical

It was a cupped and caked coincidence
how she could captivate a heated room with her overflow;
her crisp lips' brimming capacity.
The last words to cross them,
a batter of over-whipped thoughts
that would tastelessly toughen if ever exposed to air -

but she'd spill ill measurements anyway
into silver hollows
sprayed with protection and flavor.

A greased burn,
floating in flute juice,
was the crumb in pink underpants.

.

Crown of Golden Brownby *TheMadMulatto

Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Philosophical

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^neurotype Mar 2, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Overall I love the flow in this, I'm surprised it's not in the spoken word category as it would read well out loud.

Two lines I found awkward, though: "sprayed with protection and flavor" and the last one.

*TheMadMulatto Mar 3, 2013

Hmmm... *thinking*

awkward because it doesn't make sense in meaning
or awkward in the way it falls (beat-wise) and where?

^neurotype Mar 3, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

The way those lines sound. There's this rhythm that's easy to say and goes nice and fast up until those lines, but I found them jarring. They are perfectly sensible lines, though.

*TheMadMulatto Mar 3, 2013

Oh yeah, I see what you mean.
I keep an eye out for that kind of thing
but sometimes the need to adhere to the beat of the flow
derails me.
I appreciate the comment. It helps a lot!

^neurotype Mar 3, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Sure!

If you find the time to edit this, let me know

*TheMadMulatto Mar 3, 2013

Thanks for so much consideration on my behalf
but I almost never change a piece this old...

everything I've posted here on dA stands on its own as a
monument of time & circumstantial influence upon me and the medium I used then.

Changing this piece now, when I don't plan on dragging this with me to the publishers
or any open mic would be useless;
moreover, it would mar the watermark of my development.

The one time I did edit a piece
that was over a year old,
the act itself never quite settled right with me.

Many thanks, though.

^neurotype Mar 3, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

`thetaoofchaos Jan 19, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I always enjoy your originality and unique approach towards poetic prose; a sort of semi-metered emphasis on compact imagery and spoke word rhythm . This is another fine example.

*TheMadMulatto Jan 19, 2013

I'm so damn glad when the weird rhyme-flow I always fall into actually works.
I appreciate the hell out of your comment, man.

*keyanadrake Dec 28, 2012 Professional Writer

*blink* I love how your words don't go to my conscious mind but to my unconscious mind. It's like a part of me understands what you're saying but that part refuses to let the conscious brain in on the joke.

Nice words, nice pacing... nice brain-fart-causing.

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