February 28-March 6, 2005: Marina Lee Sable and LaDonna Witmer Willems

Marina Lee Sable and LaDonna Witmer Willems

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Bio (auto)

Marina Lee Sable lives in New York Her poetry has been published in The Magazine of Speculative Poetry, Astropoetica, Dark Krypt, Scifaikuest, Whispering Spirits, and other magazines.

The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Marina Lee Sable and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Coma Cold steel The digital pulse of a sterile room Tubes, drips, the carefully measured systole and diastole Machines keeping you alive Does your mind flash back to the time of the crash? The slow arc of flight, your arms turned wings A bird flying through the air, colliding with tarmac, shattering like a broken vase displacing water and scattering petals The endless flow of blood and shredded flesh Sirens Your life dripping in glass beads onto the ambulance floor Are you lucid in your dreamscapes, roaming through uncharted lands? Or is it just a vacant lot, an accidental flight into the dead zone and you its undead inhabitant? Conjure Woman Armed with a glue gun, she wraps the skeleton cross of twigs in a body bag of sacking embalmed with moss, twine noose pulled tight around the neck shaping the head She hums as she paints arcane symbols across the belly, swirls and curlicues of a black grimoire’s text sinking into the fabric like germs When the dark moon rises from the grinning skull, she lights a candle ensconced in graveyard dirt A voodoo witch conjuring revenge on an unfaithful lover, she slides a pin into the pliable face A dagger right between the eyes. Mutations heated atoms split too quickly the wild surge into metallic meltdown fuel rods shattered coverplate blown the lethal load flung from the core a deadly flower blooming patterning the sky twisting ice crystals into hot glass rain that falls to earth a dormant demon in a mutating sea of recessive genes

Bored Now I’m waiting for the perfect question the one that will turn all the tumblers and set your secrets free I’m waiting for a sidewalk stranger to scream my name from across the street I’m waiting for a warm rain I’m waiting for the darkness to get domesticated I’m waiting for a window to open into an entirely new world I’m waiting for her to find her own goddamn bootstraps I’m waiting for the apocalypse to arrive with a blinding flash, with a roar (I expect it to come from behind ) I’m waiting for my pen to stop bleeding I’m waiting for a subtle knife I’m waiting for that geriatric smell, for the sudden onslaught of age spots, curlers and paper skin I’m waiting for him to send a good, long look in my general direction I’m waiting for her to shut the fuck up (I’ve been waiting for quite awhile ) I’m waiting for the sleeping pills to fail I’m waiting for this, too, to pass I’m waiting for a train that runs beneath the ocean I’m waiting for permission to scream I’m waiting for the wind to blow me over (I’ll know, then, that I am thin enough ) I’m waiting for the phone to ring with voices from beyond the grave I’m waiting for him to come on, to come on strong I’m waiting for an occasion with a dress code (Any excuse for a tiara ) I’m waiting for a microphone that’s loud enough I’m waiting for them to start playing my song I’m waiting for the voices in my head to say something nice I’m waiting for the right time to tell you it’s all gone horribly wrong I’m waiting for the medication to kick in I’m waiting for him to give me a reason to stay for the encore I’m waiting for her to blink so I can finally make my escape I’m waiting for a slow, slow death I’m waiting for the paint to dry so I can peel it off again I’m waiting for flu season to live up to the hype I’m waiting for fair play to turn about, already I’m waiting for the oxygen mask to drop so I can show my rebel colors and put yours on first I’m waiting for tall black boots with just the right amount of swagger I’m waiting for more men to start wearing makeup I’m waiting for her to make good on the threats I’m waiting for the Christians to say they’re sorry (I’m waiting for icicles in hell ) I’m waiting for my state to secede from the union I’m waiting for the Big One I’m waiting for my so-called-life to get an NC-17 I’m waiting for the sun to burn out altogether I’m waiting for a crime of passion I’m waiting for him to give me a reason to give a shit I’m waiting for the pop stars to die off I’m waiting for her to make a mistake I’m waiting for inspiration to strike me down, to strike me dead I’m waiting for a mission to mars, a ride to the moon, an entirely uneventful spacewalk I’m waiting for him to admit that he did it I’m waiting for something to hold on to I’m waiting for the reunion tour I’m waiting for something to prove I’m waiting for shock treatment to come back in vogue I’m waiting for a ghost to materialize I’m waiting for the endorphins or amphetamines whichever will make this all worthwhile I’m waiting for it all to go on sale I’m waiting for my dog to speak I’m waiting for a burning bush A still, small voice A cloud, a dove Some kind of sign sent from above I’m waiting for my eyesight to fail me completely while turning left at the light I’m waiting for the flavor of the month to be mine I’m waiting for reality to get less entertaining I’m waiting for her 15 minutes to finally expire I’m waiting for Jesus to get interesting again I’m waiting to get contagious I’m waiting for the final bell to toll so I can gather my skirts and run for the door I’m waiting for a confession of depression that has a happy ending I’m waiting for proof of spontaneous combustion I’m waiting for the check to clear the room I’m waiting for the bittersweet to get a bit sweeter I’m waiting for the afterglow to burn a bit brighter I’m waiting for the dark horse to lighten up I’m waiting for you to get the joke (This could take awhile )