Monday, March 17, 2008

A 13th St. Genesis

Until that moment I knew not force
nor haste, nor Heaven
The bedlam now complete

I sit and wait.

This refugee camp -- this haven
paraplegic and segmented
A snake to be carried off

piece by piece by

buzzards and ants and vultures
The cat-call echoes
to predator and prey
The carrion feeds
Helplessly fertile,
The litmus taste falsetto.

Still I don't speak
nor mutter
Had I wished to,
it would hardly be a conversation
Simply, an urgent need to be to
Watch as my body becomes smaller

a clean tear;
No feeling or reaction

We'll clutch the earth
hear its heavy breath
My nerves become roots
I no longer cower in the shade
The sun beats down
and I return to dust.

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