The precursor
Who you are and what you are is your personal dream. It is only when you speak it into the stream of the world that you can claim to be a member of A Living Society.
It's your obligation to do so and the only way that others like yourself (your real family) are gathered together into collective efforts - to make the world new again.
.
iridescent neck hovering near a flower heart and wings a blur
Thunderous and loud,
the glacier chisels into
the cold, arctic sea!
Your tongue forced like clothes pins
wetting cinnamon lips,
gnawing at the barrier of one another.
Sketching, Sketching,
Hands shaping you, catching you drawn paper
filed with the note no one left,
a skilled architect,
slowly tracing across your torso.
Dog- earring the pages of your book, inner knowledge;
pages written with pearl droplets of silk
incandescent from moon colored sweat.
Fusing pressed ribs together firm as tuning forks,
asthmatic breath paining the wind
rushing through your chest;
sobbing in, sobbing out.
Sheets twisting each other in quicksand
your brail fingers finding my spine
racing down my back like a fire pole.
A sculptor arching your neck, pausing
amethyst eyes impatient like pedestrian traffic
hurried to find nowhere
Stamping, Stamping.
My hand planted in the small of your back
a careful caretaker stripped to the bone,
keeping us pinned together carelessly
inside out, upside down
A soldering wire pushed into the skin,
the bubbling, crackling burning of hair,
scents of a barbecue, roasting pork,
hazy blue smoke, fascia stripped bare.
A razor blade slash and the welling of blood,
staining the steel with a crimson hue,
slicing enough to maim, not to kill,
a badge made of scars for the cutting crew.
Is a change to the flesh a change to the soul,
either deconstruction or reconstruction?
Reinvention of self into something else,
or a playpen stab at mock self-destruction?
It’s a cry for help or it’s body art,
or it’s self expression in other ways;
or it’s seeking attention or fooling around,
a mindset for life or a transient phase.
Sculpting the flesh to let the pain breathe,
to shock, to relieve, for something to do,
no matter how scarred or disfigured the canvas
when it all comes down you are still left with you.
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