Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Where Poetry Begins, I Begin Again

Stagnant puddle in a Humidity thick with fly-sweat. Godweb
of sun and heat-- stuck in thismoment forever. Here Poetry begins
with Father Fist and Mother Bruised, cacti needles in skin, carebear
nets and facecake. I knew I was shuddering in some place holy,
some place tattooed into my soul's soul, some place scraping
my mother off pavement with little hands/little water. Heat-stroked
thighs, metal eyes and cat gone hiding beneath the sofa: breathing
ball of endangered fur here Poetry begins in the only cool blue thing: pool,
aurelian surface lapping and slurping into the side-drains. I am rescuing
all the dead bugs, holding them in my palm and blowing onto their wings in belief
I can resurrect. Here Poetry begins so thick I cant separate air from water, sun
from sky, hot from black. My world at his knee cap, my world with a crick
in my, my world whirling around me from where it all began, where there
must have been some frosting amidst swollen lips and eyes my mother wore
the fashion. Some nights dreaming between the two of them I'd awake, listen
to their lungs exhale and fog the room as far as I could see. Some nights I'd lift
myself into the heat-cloud above them and wait for the rain to pour out of me.
But it rarely came and when it did, it came in hard, slanting sheets. Till I became
nothing. It all begins here, here this place needled into the pink behind-my-eyes.
I go back there. I go back. I go back.

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