I’m On Top of the World!

Beautiful readers, I’ve finally done it! I’ve published my poetic works to:

Apple Books https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-intransigent-beautiful/id1512926542

and to

Amazon https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B088JY4G1H&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_ZN1UEbCJ1BD2H

You guys, this is my dream! I’m living during a historic pandemic, got swabbed for Covid-19 (it hurt! i feels like a ziptie is being inserted up your nose), and somehow have finally done what i’ve always wanted to do: to be a published writer.

Thank you for following my blog! Thank you for reading my work over the years, and for being interested in what I have to say. Even if my work ultimately sucks–it’s incredible to know i’ve created something that will outlast my darkest day and might live in someones home, on a tablet, or in a phone.

I can honestly say I think the book is good. It’s raw. It’s my heart. It’s got poems from when I was terribly and absolutely in love. It’s got poems from when I was angry as hell. It’s got weird meta stuff. And most importantly it’s mine.

Please go get it for a dollar, or for free on Apple Books. I’m even trying to put the book in print! So you can own a physical copy of this small miracle. Wow! I’m really excited. If you have work that you’d like me to support, please say so in the comments. I love interacting with people. This has been a light in a dark time.

You guys are great. Here’s to impossible dreams in 2020. Here’s to living like our heroes, and to small but not insignificant miracles. Dreams are so much more powerful than fear. And i’m grateful for that. : )

be become

be, become

there is that one–indivisible–

incomparable in solitude

of soul polarity

pulling ingot beautiful, no

doubt effortless-

ly

why borealis wa-

ves when

there is you

i don’t know

the dyadic supernatural, two

of us in which the worlds fail

me

for you, for your beauty phenotype

to be, become

it takes a thousand millennia

My Podcast: Presage

Please listen to my podcast, Presage, on Anchor.fm internet radio platform for free! https://anchor.fm/mac-saint-preux

Here’s a descriptive blurb about the scope of my radio work:

Hi, I’m Mac. I’m like Sabrina the Teenaged Witch—but *neckroll, tongue pop* guh-rown and black. This my experimental podcast. In this inceptive episode, I begin to tell the story of my spooky lineage.

My great grandma had a seeing eye, and if you stood behind one of her shoulders, you might get a peek over the Great Divide. My dad is from Haiti, a misunderstood island nation where Voudon isn’t just a religion—it’s complex, nuanced weaponry in the despotic house of nepotism. My mom made us go to black peepo Church where exorcisms happened often enough that ushers provided vomit trashcans to peeps at the altar as an amenity. Needless to say, as a kid my spooky a** wanted to be on check wid God, ya feel?

Now I’m practically atheist. What happened? Well, I’ve got an irreverent sense of humor, and so much time thanks to the Coronavirus. So come and chill, fam. You might need a corona for this one.

blood ingress

i stand at the ingress of time
to see
that which shines
most obliquely
you, the winter one

tragic asymptote
infinitely in proximity
but never meeting
the curve of my
absolute truth

i am a body
to touch

have we met before?

the distance between (us)
is inexplicable, fathoms of horizontal blue there are skies between us–

the tips of (fingers) fully
extended
wings of a winged animal
measured in meted evers

you (angelic) are the eucharist
and the euphony
evangelizing in a conflux
of lachrymal, damnable love

i taste black plum
blood sweetness in
conjunct, the chalice of
your spirit
it’s thicker than
congee the consanguinity

triage

I

what worlds will
come about
about when
you rise from the star?

human instinct at
the center
of everything how
to be speechless
i am you are

when you gaze: an unknown
species of brown
indecipherable, lexical
color that speaks
preexistence
assuredly

i know without knowing
all your turns
some symphony of absolute blood
kinship by lip of knife

and this nuance of complexity
touches the water sound;
when, with fingers, you evoke,
I feel
the complexion of phenomena
in roses,
(their material medium is
color philosophy
by revolutions unforgettable)

blossom your hymn a big sky
that threads a
bullet
through me (no clouds, bottomless)
blue-silver sun
fulsome vow of tone;

somehow you know
my latent self, hex me
speaking of
mysterious paradoxes;
of gods as singularity

II

what taxon of silk human ilk
are you? maybe, you are
the first
creature, sleek; phylum: of angels
i speak your ancestral name
aloud to conjure,
to awaken your impossible
cumulus
i fail to speak your
tonal rune, but
you say it (your power,
your cogent name) sounds
as perfect as anything that
has ever
been
spoken–Homeric
when it falls fruit
from my foreign, ruined
lips

that is perhaps
why it can only be
that
i look like i am
ready to fall to my death
in your arms

why i’d happily
go to hell
in an autumn basket
(after the tradition of
small, fatally curious
children)
to behold the cradle
where
you are finally and mysteriously
the intransigent beautiful

addendum:
you are weft right
(left like artifact of wings)
surreptitiously
beneath my lung
and my breath catches (flutters)
from the tightness of
the peignoir’s bind

III

beyond the sacrum                              (what of sanctity?)
in humans                                                  or devils or–
at the end of                                                      life?
the tenebrous,
the column
the coccyx
articulates with bone magicians:
coven paleoanthropologists

people knowers
whose fusion
to existential terminus
begets portmanteaux:
blends of heirloom soul
and present time

the nonbinary remains
are erosional sculptures
of stone cum smoke,
badlands
built into
minarets of allegory
so come and pray

until the inexpiable
truth
of legerdemain symbols
is naked in extremis
illumined in bas-relief

space

paranormal extradition

expedites the expatriate

soul

into                  countries

of former identity

returning to return

is a foreign service

that makes one’s life

                 (neé eternity)

foreign to

itself

am ready to enact

operandi, modus of syntactic malfeasance i hold the bleeding hemisphere of an incomplete thought the cleanly incised

                     brain is exposed:

psychic and

i disrupt systems by existing in white /ulterior interior/

                    space

secret: keep it ulterior: interior of the ultima
(of your name) is
penultimate flame
anterior to            final fire

i found a
secret compartment for
the anterior time:
there are
boxes of god

it takes space to build
sentience

city planners gentrify
blueprints of a creator
delineate the boundaries
of the ghetto
in an attempt to
to keep the ancestral deities
quiet and jesus
white

the devil’s lament

I

what gives a magnet

its magnetism? some-

thing

intrinsic in its matter

that polyglot of latent

meanings

something lucid in the dark mirror

and twisty, angled like mal magic.

II

i wake interior to the devil coil into his slough body arms inquest up length of supple shirtsleeve flex the lissome forensic flesh acme power wear his ossified bones make him specious female fall as tangential comet trail for

an amalgam of angel, 

a luminary cabal of

singular person

i ford inches of soul

to build (he)r lapidary

stone altar

offer hibiscus viscous blood honeycomb and hecatomb

to slake her dial murder to see if god is home place a collect call on my red telephone. i heard the angels snicker say god doesn’t answer devils worshipful you are of the angel sinner bloody hands never took a daughter in wedding they tell me hallowed things that could dissolve gold but i only want to know how to say i love you in hendecasyllabics 

III

and now:

everything you do is

an act of godhead

is liturgy-cum-legislation

has the impetus to

cle/slash/ave the in(visible)divisible

you can tear atoms

from

eaves of worlds,

severed so be it

so it is written so it is done

pharaoh et al amen

to Amun-Ra

IV

irregularities of light

prorogue

death a little

 

dying fool, the

half life

of a decision is

life changing

 

the full span of one–

world building

 

so imagine yourself

and the choice 

 

co-conspirators in            love

judicious as you live because

hereafter is not    conscripted

looking at       me       ready to

alter every                        thing