Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Collective (2 versions)

These things I hear:
woman is spherical
and permeable
man is warrior spear
we are blood and blood
alike with earth
maiden fern
and bleeding heart
formed in our rituals
dated in our cave paintings
our soul a layered thing
apparent but untouched

In spoken touch
such abstracts warm
we live and live again
recreate creations
my words yours and yours
permeable man
or spearing woman
shedding skin to muscle,
muscle to bone,
bone to ash and air

This is how I hear--
in your salon
your institute
your lounge chair
on the pampa, now
and one hundred years ago--
you speaking


Bend to the bowl
rounded and deep
open down and bent
Shear the grain, the wood
the steel, pick the harvest
and prod the bridging street
Earth the maiden fern
the bleeding heart, ashphalt
bowed in steaming sun
Learn the bison roaming caves
the virgin crippled on her candle row
the fairy in her flower fold
Shed skin to muscle, muscle
to bone, bone to ash and air

What touch is spoken
What word touched

In the bowl where your taste
lingers, in the scythe
that whistles your call
in bedrooms or institutes
churches or streets
or lounge chairs in suburban sun--now
and one hundred years ago--
you're speaking.


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