MADNESS

When is it madness?
When does closet-oddness
Cross that line?

When you imagine the worst thing
That can happen
(Which of course never does),
Is it madness?

When you sit up alone  in a freezing-cold house
In the middle of the night
With no shoes on,
Is it madness?

When you favour, worry or pick
At something until it’s raw
(And you don’t notice),
Is it madness?

When you find your reflection
In the faucet and  contort your face
To see what you’ll look like when you’re old,
Is it madness?

When you plot your own demise
Without being really serious
About it,
Is it madness?

When you talk to cats, birds, plants—
Yourself …
Is it madness?

Is it madness if you don’t tell anyone,
Or madness, if you do?

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

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HOT CHIP

I burned my lip
On a hot-hot chip;
The sauce had nip,
So I had to dip.

I touched the tip
Of the scorching chip
To my lower lip;
I cried out, Oh flip!

I swigged a sip
Of a yogurt-whip
To cool off the blip
Budding on my lip.

You must blow the chip
That is in your grip;
If you let ‘er rip,
Like a pup, you’ll yip.

That’s a hot-chip tip!

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

DOORS

Consider doors.
Without them, we couldn’t get in
or out of our homes
with decorum.

We open and close them
each day, until we die.

We use them to access
spaces,
and to shut the world
out.

Glass doors reveal
what’s inside, so we can choose
to enter, or not.

Steel doors
give the impression
it may be wise for us to leave.

Wooden doors—formidable
with iron handles,
lead us to incensed naves.

Brightly painted doors
seem to call,
Come in! Sit down!
Stay a while.

Screened doors
are designed to keep flies
away from carrion inside.

People speak of choosing
the right road.

You can make your mind up
about the road;
there will always be a door
at the other end.

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

GENESIS

Adam’s apple
Was Eve’s, first, but
Who could blame her,
For her thirst
For knowledge
From the Taboo Tree;
She wanted only
To be free
Of references to Adam’s Rib—
You know, she founded
Women’s Lib.
That’s okay;
This tale can hang …
Most Adams fix
On The Big Bang.

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

ECHO

We played hide and seek to The Killing Moon
In between the mid-century chairs;
Up and down dark stairs (your parents weren’t there).
We were laughing, but the joke was all on me.

It felt like love —that rush of blood to my heart.
(You were never really part of it at all, were you?)
You couldn’t fall off your high horse.
(Well,  I suppose I put you there.)

Must have been a lark, having me on your string
Was it? (Silly little thing.)
I’d crop and dye my hair for you, wear whatever turned you on.
(Silly little pawn.)

You once called me Calypso, but you lied;
I had no power over you —you were no hero.

Now, I sit, snug in a booth, chop-sticking Thai
Across from the man I’ve loved for years
(He can stop my heart’s tick with a semi-smile.)

Music plays; I recognize the tune: The Killing Moon.
It surprises me; the old wounds still sting
For a while.

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

PERPETUAL DESTINY



I am a crooked line—
A caravan of ants
That trails over leaves and branches,
Moving in perpetual destiny.

I am a crooked line—
A herd of indolent elephants
That budges its way through the bush,
Moving in perpetual destiny.

I am a crooked line—
A troop of dusty soldiers
That kicks up a desert storm,
Moving in perpetual destiny.

We shall always be—
The unstraight, the wayward ones.
We know where we are going
Is not very far.

Kat Mortensen©2011

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