Axolotls & Oxymorons – moving my art and poem HQ

To my dear followers, I’ve decided to move my creative worx over to Axolotls & Oxymorons. If you’re following Chaos Girl because her bedlam-wrangling journey resonates with you, please stick around, but my words, thinks and arts are going to be posted heretofore etc and so forth at A&O. This is just to keep things tidy. Clearly I’m only realising this now because as I mentioned, doing things back to front is how I roll.

I hope you continue to enjoy the ramblings of Chaos Girl, feel free to follow both Chaos Girl & the Real World and Axolotls & Oxymorons, I’ll be continuing to post in both.

CG

chaos girl

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son

As I hold close your small sleeping body,
milk-sated,
stomach puppy-round,
already I feel the ache of loss
For a time when I will no longer be allowed
to hold close your small sleeping body,
Mother-watching the dreams fleet across your face
Your self, so deeply real underneath my hands
Son
This brief heartbeat while you are mine

 

on exile: million miles

heat-laden

sun-addled

air weighs like one blanket too many

 

And storm comes

air hums

thunder

like distant drums

 

hot rain like

absolution

(or the Flood)

 

Slow straight run

of brown river

and shark-haunted waves

and wide skies

and dark eyes

 

and fear of the snake

 

And I swear

 

the poison entered my vein

And I had to run

from the searing stare of the sun

the sun

as her fury burned down

compacting the land

 

the drumbeat

the heartbeat of the band, the land

But the pounding feet

the heaving thighs

the deepthroat cry

They menaced me and I had to

run

From the iron glare of the gun

the gun

You have to run, son,

from the heat of the sun

A million miles you’ll run

 

 

 

But in my heart

beat

the drums and heat

(burning cradle

never stable)

that harsh land still holds my hand

 

 

A million miles

 

I say a million miles from here.

 

lament

Tell me you’ve never felt this way! 🙂

 

The chocolate sits beside me on the couch

like a friend

it offers commiseration to my brittle feelings

The computer lounges to one side,

containing all my imaginary friends

(our viscous discussions stretch and pull my mind)

 

The dog lies stiffly disgruntled

speaking her disgust

with her eyes and her moans

je veux faire une promenade“.

 

But I

sit unproductive, sinking into my secondhand couch

whose aged springs support me unevenly,

and I consume my chocolate

and don’t go for a walk,

and think about the chocolate I shouldn’t consume

and the walk I should take.