your aberration
is dyslexic and frail,
bats beating at the brink
maniacal mirage
of untapped blue devils
and untested claws
still lamenting the loss of your geometry
you believe in nothing
but Van Gogh’ s fatal heart
ink into armor into prism into psalm
psalm into sonnet into starling into song
painting true love as an exaltation of larks
Suicide Attack
I raised the dead once,
by the handhold of a coma,
beneath the ruin of our grave.
They came stumbling
with their graceless marrow
clamoring from cobwebs,
gasping for the breath
reserved for my last rose.
They sobbed with transient twilight,
choking on severed shadows
from terminal sunsets
and blood-boiling moons.
They asked me, voiceless, waning,
how did I see the sky?
I answered:
in every battling, burning color,
in every flicker of foaming fire
beyond his storming seas.
Bionote
Megan Denese Mealor spins words into wars in Jacksonville, Florida, where she lives in imperfect harmony with her partner and 4-year-old son. Her work has appeared in numerous journals, most recently Literally Stories, The Ekphrastic Review, Haikuniverse, Right Hand Pointing, Neologism Poetry Journal, Liquid Imagination, Former People, and Third Wednesday. Diagnosed with bipolar disorder in her teens, Megan’s main mission as a writer is to inspire others feeling stigmatized by mental illness.
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