Western Voices: Mela Blust

Bio:

Mela Blust is a moonchild, and has always had an affinity for the darkness. She has been writing poetry since she was a child. Her work has appeared in Isacoustic, Rust+Moth, Anti Heroin Chic ,i am not a silent poet, and more, and is forthcoming in Rhythm & Bones Lit, The Nassau Review, The Sierra Nevada Review, and The Bitter Oleander, among others.

kiss of saturn

one way street dead end town

new moon cold night head out

always keep my eyes open head down

under the bleachers where your lips found

my heart

kiss of saturn how it burns

i wonder if we're microscopic to something larger

watching us through the glass

throw everything away for one

moment, one night in a one

cowboy town, stars examining our naked souls

i remember the last time we danced

our skeletons clawing to be free

i left never looked back hung my dress

on your ego

the slow bloom of resent

sixty miles an hour when i finally got far away

from this slice of earth that birthed me

same torn sky wherever i go

prayer

all the pretty horses

     and all the pretty men

rusty shovel mouth/child of god again

  whiskey in my petticoats

a warrant to shoot blanks

oh i fell down stars again

rabbit hole/penny thoughts deep

suckle the ink black dusk

and pray before i sleep.

to save the limb

his voice reminds me of when we were young

how he could fold me into something convenient

and tuck me away on a shelf

for when he was hungry.

i always heard the ticking of a bomb in his mouth

the wires like little arms pulling me inside.

the body i knew betrayed me,

a shapeless form eagerly spilling into his firth.

the frigid pool of myself on his tongue,

without warning he spat; i lay discarded.

i waited there on the algid cement

until winter's fingers cradled me home.

how did we not know our sadness?

that it was like water

that it would fill whatever container we allowed it to occupy.

now this phantom heart sings its hollow dirge.

and the distance stretches between us

as though an artery still attached to a severed limb.

of course there is still blood,

but it's not enough to save the limb.

---

Western Voices :: Setu, February 2019