Contributor: Maria-Theresa Zehendstrom


A wet release
likely illicit
carried you into being
and the whole world spun on around you
until the last wet breath
before the grave.

"But what more?"
you cry
for even the rushing waves
crushing pains
of life on earth
leave you longing for more
leave you clawing at the door
as death drags you into abyss
and nothing remains
nothing except the pain
left for someone else to endure.


- - -
Inspired by the writings of Herne, Norris and Moreno, I write the song that splashes from my hands when I pour my soul on paper.

Contributor: Maria-Theresa Zehendstrom

- -
I rode the ride
I took the chance
I screamed and howled
with joy
thrilled
from end
to beginning.

I've seen
what can become
of two people
after they say
"I do."

I've seen
permanence
wither away
in a day

I've seen
the world
turn to sand
in an hour

I've seen promises shattered
ironclad
now broken
now rusty
now dust
memories on the wind
nothing but memories
fading
as they slip through my fingers


- - -
Inspired by the writings of Herne, Norris and Moreno, I write the song that splashes from my hands when I pour my soul on paper.

Contributor: Maria-Theresa Zehendstrom

- -
In my arms, you were always elemental
ice in your eyes
fire in your thighs
an earthiness between them

airy in your summer dress
and cutting all the same
cutting me down
dropping me amidst the leaves
like so much wheat
to take me
to bury me
and make me soft
pliant
to all of your hard needs
the husk of me
discarded
always discarded
beneath a sky
the same color
as your eyes.


- - -
Inspired by the writings of Herne, Norris and Moreno, I write the song that splashes from my hands when I pour my soul on paper.

Contributor: Maria-Theresa Zehendstrom

- -
When the only me they want
is immediate
and the only now that satiates
their grabbing mouths
is right now
this instant
its hard to stand against the tide
of needs
of hunger
of martial lust
and clawing
against clawback
with claws bared
to take all of the money
the dead left
couldn't take with them
couldn't spend on houses
all impartial things
gravestones
and monuments
and edifices
to envy
their graves
like hardons
stabbing sky
in one last
desperate
attempt
at a breath
at life
at more
than worm-eaten eternity
with only the clothes
and the coffin
to keep you company
to show
how hard you worked
how much you saved
how much you bought
when buying
could have saved so much more
so many more
than the weak, weekly stipend
you begrudge your sun-browned gardener
for mailing to his family
in Mexico


- - -
Inspired by the writings of Herne, Norris and Moreno, I write the song that splashes from my hands when I pour my soul on paper.

Contributor: Maria-Theresa Zehendstrom

- -
Rushing
to your self-important
suicidal end
of shopping
financial planning
nightmare
ten houses
but what's one more?
the debt
is mounting
is mounting
as the mountain crumbles
no place
left to go
no more
no nothing
no nowhere
left to go
but down
down
into the underground
six feet underground
with nothing
just to get away
from it all
forever
for everything you've ever wanted
to swallow
in the six foot hole
you call
your soul
is weighing you down
and the only way out
is down.


- - -
Inspired by the writings of Herne, Norris and Moreno, I write the song that splashes from my hands when I pour my soul on paper.