Somewhere rural,
a woman takes a sensible blade to her child,
dices him up so that his soul may live free.
The soil gets plowed, and all the cows cry out
in heat.
A steer goes mad and in his fury, pulverizes
the son’s soul, which got caught between his horns
and a rival’s haunch.
-
There’s no light source here.
No room for shadows, no shadow cast.
It’s quiet, and still.
Surely, something moves in this darkness,
something so perfectly silent, so brutally sound.
So I sit in my corner, and think about my pulse.
Motion becomes sound.
-
I’m laying by a stream.
The earth hangs over the water, and
my finger tips feel it rush by,
like a child running gaily under a sun’s beams,
breaking over a horizon like a woman’s climax.
A guttural sound,
and I’m a part of it.
Every time my lungs expand, every stone which
gets washed by the holy mother.
My eyes close and I am the stone which gathers
a slime.
-
What is the value of a soul?
Why call out to nothing?
Why make anything when you know something will kill it?
-
They took the ichor and put it in motors.
Machines function for a purpose, and this
machine’s purpose is a form of growth.
Industry.
But the metal oxidizes, and the ichor runs out.
The vats go empty, save for a hardened rot.
A man appeals for blood.
The vat is filled.
A system is made, and we are a product.
We are the new god, the one which bows down to memory.
-
And children inject heroin into their circulatory system.
And girls pollute their bodies and men pollute their minds.
Rocks and weeds set to clubs and butcher.
It’s no mockery, but divine intervention.
How fitting, that we kill what we deserve.
We’re so fucking strong, so very entitled.
“How dare we be so?
What right presents itself?
How dare you love us, you who knows nothing?
We know nothing.”
A head hung, a gun goes off.
Oedipus and Elektra lie in a heap of blood and brain matter.
The killer walks out the front door into a dewy morning air.
-
I think there is some sort of electrical current
running from human to human.
=
But I’m pulled into churning currents.
Warm salt water slips in and out my mouth,
I tumble down,
further and further, the space between tectonic
plates sucking me down,
down into those fissures of ancient fearlessness.
My breath grows tight, my limbs are confused,
and I die on a poker table.
-
I’m coughing up whiskey,
and a dog is being beaten to a mushy pulp in the corner.
My eyes are watering, and my water-logged ears
can’t tell from the yelps of the dog to the man gleefully
kicking it, hollaring and laughing.
I stumble over chairs,
slipping on what fluids line the floorboards.
I think of how they’ll dry, in what patterns…
On my hands and knees, now, I reach out carefully.
Just under my fingers, I feel the warm moisture.
The man must have left, because all I can hear is a
panting, a light heaving; lungs crush air just under my tips.
But something’s wrong.
This dog is shaved.
My eyesight clears to the sight before and slightly under me.
It’s a woman,
hair strewn across her face, clamped in sweat.
What fluids have seeped into my jeans?
The glass in my head sings, and there’s so much red.
I think I’ve killed this woman.
-
A tiger was caught in the forest,
poaching the fox.
=
Feed the children.
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