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'mia, the mountain' by poet Mimi Tempestt

Poet Mimi Tempestt reads their poem "mia, the mountain."

mia, the mountain

on my neck sits

a spiked collar

in my mouth: a gag: ball: red: spit drips


at wrists

i'll let us sit in this mood


violin chain-gang


sliced jokes

the pea

into mid-air


in my city

i mourn legends who knew more

about life

who carry a switchblade

or two at night

i've moved on from piss-stained streets

the lie sounds better in kaleidoscope

you can't teach a decent revelry of sheet music

for an audience who buys books

to prance bourgeoisie

every saturday evening

you either have the will of god behind your pen

or you don't

genius boxing up heaven

to let the peons penny

their iconography for the sake of hell

crying about a day off

all i need is

the heart




spilling on the page