Manuscript Contents

© Michelle Maria Boleyn Collage - all rights reserved

Marginal and distracted, the anger comes riding.
A howl, non-furtive any longer - the echoes of past
sits on everything like pepper.
I have to sneeze out the stars and the firmament
into this ink filled sea of paper and words;
small, mute, bell ringing anger comes howling
through the limbs, the crystal limbed trees,
the transparent forest.

Liberation. Walk right on through.
We own everything, always did. Invention. Sin.
No longer enchanted, any of us.
But we can't get out. Just walk right on through.

Rediscover the song of holes - small holes, medium
ones, wide and cavernous holes with tentacles,
holes with crystal sides, reflecting. Diamond holes,
amber holes, turquoise holes, holes with leaves and
plankton, moon and stars and promises.

Sing the hole song, the song of entry,
the song into escape into where it's at, real

The song of liberated space where holes exist.
Black holes, purple holes, yellow ones, they all live
in the transparent, crystal limbed forest.

There is a tiger in this forest that comes in
like thunder
between reality and dreaming,
the something else tiger
who eats salt crystal spaces
and provides us with fodder.

...............There is a transparent forest in the road,
on the sidewalk, in newspaper's yellowing pages,
in windows and eyes, stones and seaweed,

...............There is a transparent forest that lives
in colored paper blown by the wind,
faded by the sun, waiting like fire for you to notice
its small, temporary existence.

This is where the holes are,
the ones that will save us when we all need bread,
when the painter can't paint
and the singer can't sing. It is the lizard's eyes
and the wind dance that will win in the end.
The wolf who hides from our anger now
will come back with a vengeance to celebrate
with the ant and the flea, pomegranates and plums,
parading their nakedness in the crystal limbed forest.

Blue and red holes in a firmament,
always a part of the song.

©Michelle Maria Boleyn