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  • First Love (You Are The Epiphany)
    by
    Jé Maverick
    Sunday, January 18, 2009
    Gentle soul – you have sought it, sifted
    and panned for it, dug and rummaged
    as though it were a set
    of mislaid keys – or eyeglasses; as though
    it were a treasured pen
    you’d dare not sign your name without.
    And so it is – gentle, restless soul -
    that you feel empty without it; that you wear
    a sparse coat, sewn from the cold of experience;
    that you are one forced smile from hardness.
  • Between The Lines
    by
    Jé Maverick
    Tuesday, January 13, 2009
    Don’t look here
    on the days when your voice
    is lost as a mumble, or a slur,
    or a broken song:
    I will be scattered;
    intangible; a pepper
    of smaller traces.
  • Spirit That The World Said No To
    by
    Jé Maverick
    Sunday, January 11, 2009
    Spirit that the world said no to,
    unwatered wallflower, I recall
    when your days had the mercy
    of callous warlords; when every eye condemned
    with the nature of a solemn judge,
    and burnt you at the stake of fierce indifference.
    How you toiled with that puzzle of ashes; how
    each dawn’s ruthless jackboot kicked them
    from the cradle of your patient hands.
    Darkness assigned your role – cast
    you as a wraith to dwell upon a shadow’s fringe:
    close enough to witness light; enslaved beneath the pall.
  • About A Girl
    by
    Jé Maverick
    Wednesday, January 7, 2009
    You’re waking now -
    though sighs are shared,
    the hemispheres are split
    with another sober slice
    of fission – once more
    a planet cloven.
    Perhaps you wear it heavily,
    drag the first thought of it upon
    your wanting flesh like a hairshirt -
    This Idea Of Us,
    this beast that pants and lolls,
    ankle tall, old, lagging,
    straggling to keep pace
    with the lovely that you’re wasting,
    the beauty you’ve withheld
    for this ungodly age – this wild
    that howls alone.
  • Canticle Of The Heart
    by
    Jé Maverick
    Tuesday, January 6, 2009
    One
    blazing
    flame of flesh;
    one
    torch of blood;
    one
    luminous harvest
    with which to light the world –
    heart -
    benevolent fire,
    you spread your warmth
    as bread for the feast
    of humankind.
  • Notes On An Unwritten Smile
    by
    Jé Maverick
    Monday, January 5, 2009
    An hour is eternity. If
    paper is scratched with the wrong meaning
    blood is drawn.
    Why must it be so delicate?
    The nib makes uncertain gestures over
    winsome, or dusky, or sultry –
    yet can’t commit.
    This is the horrid nature of specifics.
    Still, one can’t desecrate.
    Those are not your smiles.
    Your smile is the language
    of forbidden consolations.
  • I Can’t See The World
    by
    Jé Maverick
    Sunday, January 4, 2009
    Because you exist, I cannot see the world.
    You leap from lilacs, and tambourines,
    and bubble in the eddying waters. You plucked
    me from the stalk of a limp night, and because you exist
    I am suffocated by your name.
  • You Who Turn From Love
    by
    Jé Maverick
    Saturday, January 3, 2009
    You who turn from love in pain,
    turn kindly: seek the tender cycles of the world.
    The winter greets with joy-flung arms
    the first fog’s slow return, and so the moon
    shall know its lover’s face, the sun sinks
    without quarrel. Spring dances without clothes
    as Autumn looks on, waiting, and neither
    will depart the grand design.
  • I Have Heard
    by
    Jé Maverick
    Friday, January 2, 2009
    I was a bump in the day.
    I walked fifty miles of aimless, looking
    in each pavement crack for the faces of angels,
    turned blind corners with eyes wide open,
    sat quietly at out-of-service bus stops,
    for an event I didn’t wish to attend,
    nor could remember the invitation for.
    Noon spun on a dry axis,
    each second needing the grease of
    a troubled thought and an injured sigh,
    and the leaves dived without noise, just as expected,
    from the maples along the street
    and the eucalypts upon the mountain.
  • How To Feel Beautiful
    by
    Jé Maverick
    Thursday, January 1, 2009
    It sticks to your insides, this endless tramp
    of the daily, damp commute. This war against the clock
    and how each monstrous hour falls and falls
    and chimes a bleak reminder.
    The calendar, it hurtles slickly by – you swallow
    knowledge like you fight a rising gorge –
    those displaced days that made up all your youth
    lie littered in your wake:
    the carrion for history’s avid vultures.
    And yet, you grow accustomed to the loss -
    and grinding down the journey of each day
    into a powdered debt – resolve to pay yourself
    at Destination.