2 Star Motel #4

Between the threads
of time and space,
where nothingness resides;

An empty catacomb of prayer.

The echoes
of a faceless
bride, transcribed.

An annihilation
of particles; seismic
shifts & an oracle’s
propaganda,
make me drift
in thought:

Where eyes are
clean with tears,
and folds in time
and space bring back
deceased memories.

Between the threads
of time and space,
where nothingness resides;

An empty catacomb of prayer.

The echoes
of a faceless
bride, transcribed.

An annihilation
of particles; seismic
shifts & an oracle’s
propaganda,
make me drift
in thought:

Where eyes are
clean with tears,
and folds in time
and space bring back
deceased memories.

2 Star Motel #3

Cracked sky bleeds
white lightning,
as I echo out
the devil’s hymn,

There are blasphemies
between breaths, and
somehow saving graces,

I will press on;
and I will
raise a tower
to the sun.

Cracked sky bleeds
white lightning,
as I echo out
the devil’s hymn,

There are blasphemies
between breaths, and
somehow saving graces,

I will press on;
and I will
raise a tower
to the sun.

2 Star Motel #2

In the absence
of my lobotomy,
I see strange devils.

Stoplights.
Tall grass & open fields

Through which sunshine fades.

My womb, my
opened tomb,
venting manifold
computations; enumer-
able & blind. Number
preceding death, preceding
misinterpretation.

I see the fool played in part,
by my unconscious & other.

In the absence
of my lobotomy,
I see strange devils.

Stoplights.
Tall grass & open fields

Through which sunshine fades.

My womb, my
opened tomb,
venting manifold
computations; enumer-
able & blind. Number
preceding death, preceding
misinterpretation.

I see the fool played in part,
by my unconscious & other.

Love is Technology is Death

I am halting nearly all of my activities in order to write my first novel. If you are interested in reading as it comes, sign up for my newsletter: http://moanlisa.com/newsletter

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I am halting nearly all of my activities in order to write my first novel. If you are interested in reading as it comes, sign up for my newsletter: http://moanlisa.com/newsletter

If you would like to read the book parts in their pre-edited form; sign up for Scribophile and follow me:
http://www.scribophile.com/authors/maria-morisot/

Issue 1, Page 5

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Polarized snow caps; integrated rhythmic
condescension. Here’s where the line was
crossed.

In the caverns of my hallucinatory
parabola, an ovule shaped doll with
thin horns piercing its skull, entwined
iron threads and a piecewise malfunction;

The neurotransmitters in this
parietal orb; dealing out hypotheses
and cigarettes by the carton;

I knew then when I heard your voice,
that these fluid bodies of malicious
intent could go on for days without sleep,
without dream without letting me

Wash away the ineptitude and the
catharsis.

<img src="http://pleasetouch.me/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/opetry_qr-3.png&quot; alt="" width="111" height="111" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-3

Polarized snow caps; integrated rhythmic
condescension. Here’s where the line was
crossed.

In the caverns of my hallucinatory
parabola, an ovule shaped doll with
thin horns piercing its skull, entwined
iron threads and a piecewise malfunction;

The neurotransmitters in this
parietal orb; dealing out hypotheses
and cigarettes by the carton;

I knew then when I heard your voice,
that these fluid bodies of malicious
intent could go on for days without sleep,
without dream without letting me

Wash away the ineptitude and the
catharsis.

Issue 1, Page 3

[soundcloud url="https://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/320471937" params="auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true" width="100%" height="450" iframe="true" /]

Inert matters;
lost souls sparking heat waves,
and it doesn’t really matter.

The twist of your tongue
as you say grace;
as we sit down to eat,
mouths full of poems
and we haven’t got the
time to digest any of it.

What matters more
than words; transposed on paper
or in text on LCD,
is the slight shift
of our constitutional surrender;
capitalizing on the fact that we
don’t play fair.

I don’t play fair.

Inert matters;
lost souls sparking heat waves,
and it doesn’t really matter.

The twist of your tongue
as you say grace;
as we sit down to eat,
mouths full of poems
and we haven’t got the
time to digest any of it.

What matters more
than words; transposed on paper
or in text on LCD,
is the slight shift
of our constitutional surrender;
capitalizing on the fact that we
don’t play fair.

I don’t play fair.

Issue 1, Page 2

[soundcloud url="https://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/320468807" params="auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true" width="100%" height="450" iframe="true" /]

Out of touch; out of reach, your
belly full of milk & coffee,
no concrete recitations of a poem past due;

Just the slow, methodical
touch of keys, of letters popping
against the keyboard’s back.

In great numbers, they clamor.

This flow of information,
these mutations of a need
to fill some voided love,

Mother, may I have some more coffee, please,
to turn it into chains of death or love,
these dancing waves;

Particles of incoherent fractures of a mind,
bled.

We bleed, we pass through an uncertain
crossing; and going straight or veering
we concede there is no love here.

<img src="http://pleasetouch.me/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/opetry_qr-1.png&quot; alt="" width="111" h

Out of touch; out of reach, your
belly full of milk & coffee,
no concrete recitations of a poem past due;

Just the slow, methodical
touch of keys, of letters popping
against the keyboard’s back.

In great numbers, they clamor.

This flow of information,
these mutations of a need
to fill some voided love,

Mother, may I have some more coffee, please,
to turn it into chains of death or love,
these dancing waves;

Particles of incoherent fractures of a mind,
bled.

We bleed, we pass through an uncertain
crossing; and going straight or veering
we concede there is no love here.