Maggie Shurtleff

Pomegranate Stains

These rust ledges carved into the landscape
each level holding stone; waiting to be sliced
and used. I sit in the middle of pit
stroking His cunt, watching the granite dust
rise and fall; settle on their toned bodies;
those dusty Gods, swinging sledges onto spikes
wedging granite open as He does my legs.

He says to me, “Stroke for Me. Let your fingers
sink deep upon each hammer, down upon each
snap of stone. Watch, feel their weight bend back
over VW sized chunks broken off for them to work;
splinter them down to manageable bits; as you
thump My clit. You better not cum, bitch.”

And i do as instructed. i see them bodies
take Thor’s hammers strike down upon spike
drive into seam of granite, and i so do
with my fingers into His cunt
in between these red walls;

soft smooth lips the contrast heats me as those
sharp edges of stone cut deep slicing arteries
pulsing blood into air as His clit fattens,
and i watch as they, them dusted Gods
scramble about to save one of their own; each one
with his own mark of cutter, drilled nail bed
purpled black, bruised muscles, bits of tips
of fingers not pulled out of wedge soon enough
are left behind, fleshy left overs
bleeding into the rust of stone; all the same.

i see that God, tall, the crook of his inner arm
pumping blood staining the air; the scent of earth
satiating my own senses and i push my fingers
into His cunt with each forceful pump of blood
shooting from severed artery until i cum, hard.
As hard as those rocks fall upon thumbs. my head
throws back as far as spine will allow; as His cunt
squeezes my fingers vice-tight until fluid is finally
released; the pungency of pee and cum and blood

pomegranates my fingers; bringing them to wanting
tongue, i suck them clean, oh the sweetness.
He is pleased. This quarry of pleasure; cutters dusted
makes me slave. i cum on command until only my breath
shudders. i look up to see the ledges empty—

the dusted men gone home, and me still in the pit
sputtering please, legs spread, cunt bleeding and Him
spurting cum onto His reddened slit


you ever see something so peaceful and beautiful
and be so awe struck

and you write about it
many times
but you still feel as though
you do not give it the justice due?

last night was one of those nights
the sky drifting indigo
until the moon broke through
illuminating lofty clouds
revealing smooth curved roads shining
so bright, looking like rivers
cradled by dark lazy tree feathered hills
i alone at 3am
riding along; felt like the universe said to me
here! here is your kiss into the morning

i don’t remember how fast or slow i was going
i just remember the images and the moon
following me . . . so intimately.

i was so small in this universe of last night
yet intricately part of it. bound.

i am yours

it rained tonight
i didn’t see it
my lips were too busy
as were my hands
my tongue lavished
whatever came its way
as did my eyes

when all of me and you
was taken and given
we pressed down our shirts
pulled our pants up
brushed back our hair

we kissed again
the goodbye kind

on the drive home
the moon so sweet
stared me down
over dark tree covered hills
laying on either side
of the shining highway roads;
solid rivers
that shone moon’s eyes
and let me slide along
until i reached home

safe. and it is so amazing
that i can see you again
through cam and see your smile
and eyes knowing that i am
yours—missing you
so very much.

another night has kissed me into tomorrow

those shutter bugs
scurry about skittering making noises
that only i hear. and i talk back to them
and they sing to me and i smell them
prancing about on tip toes, trying not
to piss down their legs. because they
know i will track them down. so they
pivot and squawk; thinking distraction
could save their tight little asses
from my tongue, but i surprise them
and bare teeth—that is when they
realize i am carnivore tonight

and nothing but plunging into their
flesh would even come close
to satiating my senses. they play
dead but this turns me on more
and i lift each of their appendages
playing; watching their fake falls
and i lift again and watch the falls
over and again until one of them

and always there is one of them
giggles and snickers—and pop!
just like that—that one is snack
and the others; dead as silence
rings at 3am when no one else
is awake but me and you
and the spraying 18 wheelers
i take pity on the rest . . . HA!

i don’t think so . . . one by one
pop! pop! pop! pop! pop!
until there is but bits of scraps
of antennae and shell.

another night has kissed me into tomorrow
i like the taste.

i am hard

sometimes, and wanting
even though
i love you
i am bound to say the wrong thing
or look too harshly
or cut too deep
at some point.

please forgive me
when i do.

i am hard
i am so
because i don’t want to cry
when you have to go—
it makes me feel weak
to cry and miss you.

please forgive me
when i do.

warm like home

oh crow, hovering about
wandering about
and me sitting doing the same
looking at them those black eyes
so aware of everything
can you read my mind? peck it with your
sharp beak.

let it drip the memories that I don’t
want anymore onto your claws, carry
them far away where the rivers reach up
mountains. please dear friend,
peck me forgotten. can you taste my flesh?

slide me down your throat as if you were
eating rotten meat, as I am
under boot of mother dread
under silence of father absent
under paws of hungry beasts
under cocks and cunts insatiable
slide me down your throat dear crow
let me sizzle in that belly of yours
until I am nothing more than the spot
that used to be.

oh dear crow, brother, sister, to me
if I could’ve found a way to be a mite
on your brow, i’d’ve done it a million
times over as not to be this stagnant
keeper of despair that so holds me.
I imagine a mite would only know hope, ingrained
in it to do nothing but eat and live.
father crow, will you not finally kiss me

lift me from here; this hole that devours me
as did your friends, as did your own son.
father, please—those wings look sturdy
is there no feather in which I may hang onto
as you ride the thermals of the sky? away

from these concrete steps I sit upon
watching the wanderers so free, black beauties
spread across the sun’s face, and here I am
blinded, as if those damn wild dark spots
in my eyes will ever go away. they don’t.
they bugger about as if my pupils are home
to their kind and they are not ready to return.

sweet crow, fly into me, please. Rip this reflection
of sorrow out of my eyes, let me see nothing. yes,
oh crow, claw on further, jump into my sockets,
sweet meat is waiting there for you. I beg of you—
taste my memories, choke them down, and let them be
emptied. I gladly give you all the razored glimpses
that bleeds my everyday into wishes of no tomorrows.

I guess you don’t care for them? I yell at your back
as you jump from step to step, higher and higher
away further, soon those claws wrapped around railing,
and you spy an opossum, squished, barely breathing—erratic,
your head turns to me one last time,
you smile as you stretch and fly

spiraling down to your meal. I am so foul
even you, oh crow, find me tasteless. or is it
that I am more than barely still breathing,
my beats still too steady? epiphany,
I find edge of railing warm like home.

i thought of so many things to write about

seedless watermelons
fresh on a heated summer night
flesh sweating hot
pink juice rivers down throat
into cleavage
tongues kiss
trail after river bed
licking its tail
we fold into each other
in the morning we wake
to find snow covered branches


spring’s subterfuge
tickled the trees
causing them to spread; bloom
exposing their sex
tongues cunting out of core
waving about
look at me
look at me
winter was not finished
spanked them, they bled
wilted fallen; dead
are tomorrow’s seeds
as they are fed
to decomposers
and the year away
will not welcome
furry beasts’ bellies
fat with their own hopes
they too will find
nothing to feed upon
and the bees and the birds
their beaks sucking vacancy
pollen free
nectar deprived
as their tongues
find cores barren
and we’ve fallen


Night has come across the sky and the willow trees are just as dumb
for swaying to wind as is the grass; tall weeds in swamp seem to only
breathe when wind moves it. I tell you this is not home this is not
home this is not home. I scream take me take me take me please.

Yet the rising waters feed me nothing. Instead i find a man that
beats me or calls me momma before he plunges his makeshift spiked
rod into my cunt. Instead i find a woman that pulls her hair out
in chunks, invites me to her cam as she slits her forearm vertical;
her tits wearing lipstick that says why didn’t you love me? Instead
i find a sister whose barren womb calls me to carry her and his
future; i don’t like him. He’s too nice. So i refuse. If he were
a rooster; fucking all the hens then shitting on their heads I’d
carry their load; the multitude of evil. Instead, I tell her to ask
our other sister who smokes and drinks and finds time to bang our
uncle who for some reason has not died yet.

I call to the waters again please bring me home. Again, nothing.

So this dripping of me; slow death, bits of me picked until i am
but a scar walking keeps me here; gravity’s slave. I try so hard
to find an airy spot but nope nope nope the pills, the liquor
the chocolate, the cream pies waiting to be cleaned from perfectly
delightful red caves are all but distraction—and i indulge.

i am wanting to go home again. still the waters
ignore me—they tell me via silence i am spoiled
and i should pay my dues a little longer.

and i do. i let the words break open my skin and stab me
over and again. i let the dreams that donít scale me
drift off somewhere so nice. i let the buildings stay erect
without their feet feeling my fall.

and the devil that i bore, roams around free and happy.
i should be seeing his glory made
but home is where one can feel nothing
and that is fine too.


I sit and pick wings off flies
with tweezers, plucking away.
Then I move on to the little
hairs on their legs. And soon
they are shelled. I don’t forget
their eyes or their long spikes.
And they squirm and ooze—it’s orgasmic
for them I see. So, I give them
what they want and plunge metal
tip into their innards and they
squirt. and I know, I have made
them cum so hard. hope; hearing
the buzz . . . feeding the need.
looking to see; the fight.

into that dream

did i tell you how much you mean to me
i thought i was dreaming last night
hearing your voice
not knowing if it was real
not knowing at all . . .
what was real
your voice holding me . . .
taking me
calming me
all i could do . . . is hear you
want you
need you
all i could do was imagine you
enough to kiss my eyes
and tell me to sleep
tell me you love me . . .
and i closed them shut
closed them tight
and kissed you back
into that dream . . .
where you never say goodbye
where you never have to unwrap your arms
where you never have to leave


wicked words that come from my mouth
rip through my lips
and my tongue like a razor
cuts, and even if i stitched my lips
with the thickest of sinew
the words would slice through them
turn to fire . . . hotter than sun
and burn the edges of anyone in their path
leaving them charred like paper
the way its frame browns and shrinks . . .
only when my own breath pulls in and blows out
the very flame it ignited; will
there be something left of you . . .
not much
you will blow away in ashes
i won’t even look back
i’ll be annoyed by your burnt smell
clinging to the insides of my nose
but as soon as a stronger scent
takes hold—you’ll disappear

i tell you there is nothing in me but maggots
and they squirm . . . and eat
finding every sweet piece
chowing down . . .
recycling into bile
i taste them . . . and smile.

you see me wallowing in a river
red-clay blood
i don’t want the salty taste of ocean
i want the mud
i need it
caked to me

weigh me down
keep me settled
drown me
in its airless encasement

stop me
from me.

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