Mugged by the Muse by Hallie Moore

Her bright urgency spills through me,
showers my back, I glance over
at her smudged wings,
her slutty Helena Bonham Carter look
tangled hair, smears of black shadow
ringing her eyes.

She smells like memory—

the honey of Jack’s kiss,
falling in the Thames,
market stalls in Kathmandu
a smoldering bomb.

She stomps muddy Doc Martins
into my white-carpet mind
crumples my moon/June stanzas
and flings them out my garret window.
Twirling in her torn net skirt
she sweeps rhymes, my measured life
crashing to the floor.

I cower, she raves

The insane asylum is us
Happiness is only now.

She bellows in Sanskrit
as my landlord pounds the wall.

Leans wet breath into my ear–

I ate the last passenger pigeon
I marched the Chinese into Tibet
I sleep with all your lovers.

Who do you think writes your poems?

2190163840_e34bbbd74e_z

“Gruesome” image by Flickr user Ian Welch

IMG_1473Hallie Moore, raised in Washington State and educated in California (Stanford University, BS, MA; Antioch University Los Angeles, MFA), now calls the Texas Gulf Coast home. Most recently she is the winner of the 2013 Blue Light Press Chapbook Contest. This season, her poetry is on display in downtown Houston on an 84-foot photo wall on Main Street . Other work has appeared in The Texas Review, Borderlands, Spillway, Blue Mesa Review, Calyx, Moondance, The Adirondack Review, Suddenly, Persimmon Tree, etc.