M.A.G. FEATURED WRITER
15 WORKS
BY AMY KING
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Alter-zero eyes camouflage
primal carnal lack: caress nothing
where the ego wall explodes rote
address, tired nightly document:
Sparse with my stares,
I see a cardboard cut-out
across the smoky café, who
looks back looking like you
but she is me nonetheless
if less is more, etcetera.
The stolen aim of this economic credit
gives accused rights a chance
to fester in knitted individuals, fighting
for the case of more than one say.
In the din of choirs, staging singularity
camps becomes you, my task avenger,
not bearing near the shrouded case yet.
================
I'm a public altar liable
to shatter under attacks.
We amateur humans are equal
or the same as we have seen:
transmissions sink where shapes embrace.
Defend and endow buoying arms
but do not forget this wound in tune
with our established radio coda,
tailor-made to abrupt the play.
Cast about my pig iron;
wind up my organ grinder;
I carry a rhythmic debt.
The jackknife juggler noted bearing
out of sorts, not quite safe in his
own ways. Keep your eyes on mine.
Baptize the snapshot with the bare room:
we're blending presence as we go along.
Deceived in the daily ways,
I infect my benign self.
================
My own fur burns me.
This flag turns me home, box on my back.
A vacant possession belongs
with its own sign, occupied between
torso segments. Where did you lean
distinctly into a fixed impression?
In addition to acquired behavior
of the visitor's passport,
a barefooted person burst forth,
channeling all diseases of versification.
A suspect hides in the photograph.
Next my name turns diluted salt under
the physician's concern for remission.
================
The trumpet maiming fox lies lodged
in each oath taker's lung.
Next door telegram incites a message,
the murder of guessing. Undercover
my gods are known by each step,
we hear his cry and button world news,
returning this square of family flame.
Fry meat cakes, simmer greens and
thank darkness bursting forth, banished
at the outskirts of this bible-belt town.
Shoot to cut; reclaim our bold red cunning.
================
Your aggregate eye recites a holy book.
A congratulate graft depicts divination
as in scraping points from a history.
How did it pass so fast into
the coordinated looking glass?
My transparent hand runs through it.
You hear my nails at the pages,
and turning, walk away always
toward me, filling with sighs of seasons.
I only wish I were here, once or twice.
The privacy of a doorway pretends
the devil's never fallen fixated.
Depart to drive along the mountainside
highway, absorbing indirect sorrow
from these wildflowers' yellows.
================
As we walk, madness grows deluded.
Reside within its absent wake.
I study how to let in what gets locked
off this matchbook precipice, throwing
someone's tendered testimony,
distant vanishing ornament.
The truest trace is an ache of material
in every weed. Its fading fire flares
then dies in the palm of my eyes.
I've seen the host carry through our bodies
soft white tires rolling against the street.
Americans and I speak a similar language
of sulfur-to-stone so briefly I acquit myself.
================
Drink the wine of small medicine jars,
use lace trim to detect people surrounding.
Take adulterated marriage with
its internal heritage to the top deck,
look your blood twilight in the eye.
Flint-like legs move in synchronized
designs with castanets.
Consistent divorce-along movie show,
we're all lit up in our petticoats remark
on days that exorcise
our former years' call to tempt us.
We move within an authenticator's shadow.
Likewise, the family door returns on hinges.
================
In addition to a syndrome of stars
for which communion contains our conduit,
mill about in a conspiracy of uniforms.
A brick of petty authority thuds
its passable portion at my freshly-born feet.
Is each dilemma briefer without defection?
My parents of magnetic inheritance turn
to shapes of gas. I rise poor for city streets,
sleep bearing my porous inhibitions.
Wear silk armor, a nerve-ending figure
of this planet charts her own occupation,
hints at a wired cast. We turn to turn
into ourselves, figures of name-cut glass.
================
After sweat on a milk bottle
in late night fits of forgiveness,
heed my landing advice: burn
off muscle discharge; only by flesh
and bone will we reach death.
Dying is its handmade password.
My left-hearted circumstance returns to
smell the surface. It schedules a resemblance
of the children-and-egg measurement.
At this moment, the girl comes undone
like any emperor, who finds there on foot.
================
Please tell me again the last few years
of negligence have been
an over-the-body experience whereas
now I promise to fall indelibly.
Fruit trails juice on these sweltering streets.
An autonomic nervous system erupts
on command: the corpse also depicts
resemblance without bearing out essence,
a symptom of being wed not-quite to oneself.
You have not fixed the projected me of
our communal summer-breeze treaty.
More winds will follow, taut
with a sound of love.
The tomatoes grow at night.
================
They opened my cell, escorted
my homeless want along the wall.
Constructing the convict clean
will sketch the practice; assume
a guilt with each displacement.
They position their guns, forge
alliance and write across
the handshakes of science. Risk
fingers sign behind closed doors
reaping identity proofs. Person fabric
commands my inner notes to tune
the chords of what again is the killing
impetus of a passport. Withdraw
your claws from this attention at
a citizen sequence calling forth ancient
expense. We remain an afterimage at
the verge of a burning land, pens poised
against the blur of broken promise.
================
As naked amenders in this iron age,
I become your poster doll inhabiting
this clause we call home. You must
return to hermaphrodite muscle
of the earth. Scavenger undersoil breathes
messiah dirt. Insert omission and press
it to your tissue collar-silence is still
not about hearing. A mummified magpie opens
her chest and marks occasions with song.
Spill the wind and edit elixir sips
in the canyon each someday arrives at.
Only a swan is possible without decoding it.
================
Support the case to delineate
a still-water sophist. He walks in
water. Eats the sky. Your homeland
religion lies at stake &
I want to be my own central gravity.
In approval of cowardice,
a supporting dogstar magnet coerces
the curtain above as we lean
upwards from the backseat.
One visitor's entry at the point of saving
grace begins the tortoise principle,
which diagrams our family nest
in its own turtle shell of
hexagonal snow flakes. They
skim the skin, certain of no race.
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The leaves in jest cry death into
position. God's will multiplies behind
a pianist's private history and all
of everyone is a voice in only pieces of him.
Behold the host fades our bodies spent,
the archaeology of presentation betrayed.
He sits across the park at once
lurking in forms of hideaway decay,
a geology for fleshly composition.
Life can pick back up wherever you feel
at the spine of mind's transparent soul.
================
Watch the theater crashing
curtain tides and murders it
evades. The pianist becomes a dress
rehearsal salesman breaking with
his telephone formula. He will erupt
both sinner and sin, forsaking past
rendezvous tattoos. His fingers rattle
shapes of our shifting corpus. Hence we
notate separate lyrics, anchoring situationist
tactics by each scene with state personnel.