Anterarch

her spine that musical instrument I strummed plucking sounds chords and tones in axis, the toothed vertebra she turned her head saying she knew everything I know she didn't know about heathen nights and their shifting moons or all jesus christs in christianity but it's a lie as I climbed my fingers now in atlas carefully completing the bone contour even in her eye there was a grimace the rain started at that unexpected time hence the absurd and sudden silence of the dogs before scared of the moonlight. I have walked these medullary paths for centuries watching a vertebrate world under warm skin the panting breath of one who will love and on the outside the metamorphosis that makes us replicate honeyed songs and languid concepts of what's sensual because the touch that compresses the column squeezes and grabs the body planet by the spine allows me to foresee the rheumatic pain of tomorrow the thorny gorges we'll walk through in trauma sneaking us away from the blatant truths that no one really wants to know.

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Marco Chies

Date: 3/29/2022 6:52:00 AM

this poem came after a affection I made with an ex girlfriend. when traveling along the bones of the spine, I realized that our axis is there and it is relative, that the misalignment of our center will lead to that inevitable pain of tomorrow...

L Milton Hankins

Date: 3/28/2022 9:36:00 PM

Very sensitive piece, Marco. Indeed, I experience the "rheumatic pain of tomorrow" now, and I am constantly astounded that we continually sneak away "from the blatant truths that no one really wants to know." We know them; we cannot face them because they are so painful.