m.t. whitington


A force majeure, female catalyst, futurist, polemicist, psychonaut, epistemologist. Ruminating between the lines with a clarion call and extreme unction.  A global writer with southern roots.


Manipulator

Manipulator

mischievous. excessive. unpredictable.

                    manipulator–

                                  give me a hand

                                       legerdemain

with this artifice and fakery,

 

years wrinkle

the skin, but to give up interest

                                  wrinkles the soul!

 

you create your own paradise,

                                 stand in the faux

cave with a toast of champagne!

 

hanging garlands from twisted

dwarfed beech,

green turtle shells a fairy's igloo

hidden, gnarled, twisted,

         contortionist in repose

                                 with picnic.

                                    

doubt. fear. despair.

 

something portentous always looms above,

 

listen

hear that central place in your heart

that echo,

that recording chamber,

let it only receive and cherish

                    these fine art high frequencies;

 

                              beauty. hope. cheer. courage.

 

let those light your every day.

 

you’re as young as your faith, as old as your doubt,

as young as your hope, old as your despair,

young as your self confidence, and as old as your fear.

 

waiting to return to Les Faux de Verzy in wintertime

                                           fasting on bone broth

and miracles,

flipping and twisting greys in the auburn

                                      almonds hazel and dimming,

it is a quite a different landscape. the skeletal remains

of mutant serpent's reaching for blues

screaming...

                            “You want a piece of me?”

to die is to gain,

but demand a good death!

never fade away. it is your duty,

burn out with spark,

raining down ancillary beauty!





 

The Science of Walking

The Science of Walking

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