|
|
Una
Xoto
A Night of Madness and a Dream of Childhood
It comes when you least expect to find it The dreams of childhood & the joy of the Sunday bell house To recall the rain against window & the pull of maternal hand rapt big 'round tiny bone finger child to feel warmth & know smile & father whiskers poke'd silly against face familiar vistas & pumkin'd terrain to feel the breath of memory lip the kiss of fortune To know the nest of safety & feel the softness of pacman jeans against leg & ankle A room, a table, a small lamp, basket tree of apples wormed brown alone with mirror alone with face cigarette death machine another push of whiskey in another room, narration of myth from formula The rise & fall of Icarus the vinyl hammer clicks the rocking horse to tremendous pause a half note of distance my throat bleeds out when wet or sickly Some where down the hall the tiny mirror another voice, another room a murmur...No, a choir for the mind to devise A divine Host shall glimmer the lunatic into patterns of recognition a host of stars burnt fast against my eyes & somewhere out there the two are laughing at the trace of shadow to lung or is that here? Is that now? I am not well. I may not ever see her well again to drown by thought is to drown by sea To erupt from the tree & to lust for the plum tongue licked sweet for something higher, something sacred my ears burn the worm & leave me with traces of the throat boat slowly burning Britannica volume by volume soundless an echo more akin to rust accumulating oil from tube then of howl from breath
there are fields out there Acres of memory which lay waste to harvest I am a shell fish greedy for the hook hungry for the worm I was once painted blue & whispered Golden raised above the hopes of all who came before me in the symphony of youth all tongues may recall the thought wheel of charity & the thickness of gravity The morning cock which stirred & crow'd us happy & sprite which pull'd back our hair & taught us delight the weekend sun who peeled away slumber & children's sleeping games to embrace & tumble down grassy hills into the arms & hearts of sisters who welcomed us home from trains & packed cars quick for leaving In my waking hours I knew only of promise & the gilded ceiling fans of possibility
Animus
Here we salute the onion the audience of stars & molecule bead to thrash the tussle of rushes which inhabit the framing hirsute node of skin between us last night the lunar landing was a bathing point motes do gloat the magnificence of our watery island the sour facade of milk to skin to basin gold relief sparks sativa, burning root, ashen oak the voice of Oz a moment of tinsel supremacy
in between the days of sun & conception we left the bed in disarray we painted our faces in flour & lead & ran through windows to the sea we reversed the twin turbine kaleidoscope reinvented order between our toes From our gowns, Jehovah by helicopter from our gowns, Stonewall & Gods promise delivered in a rainbow Ah from our gowns, we kissed ourselves thirsty & loose
Forgive me (Aegri Somnia) I have burned these shoes & been unfaithful to this disease worn mustache & pantyhose over St Paul have skipped second meal in exchange for cheap labor (talk) Talk (talk) to other gods, other monSters, other creeds but only because they are not so jealous or paranoid found peace in Chinatown 11th & Vine Saturday 2:22 am Febuary 23, 2004 I wasn't there but I knew a few who were They glanced the moving wheel which spoke blue & mechanical under xeroxed reproduction Drew pictures of Mohammed in dirty washrooms under weak lighting Salaam, Salaam, he kinda looked like Don Rickles in drag (Salaam) Read hadiths beneath jubilant banners dancing naked & pure we stirred certain stars & quietly consumed the others within a soup of her own design
Shalom, the war waged the struggle waned Shalom, we turned our tulips toward the match & the stick all the while; sulfur burns Shalom, my love is an ocean salty from your jeans I was born from burning churches... shalom firebombed for the pity of America...shalom I was born from a lather'd bathroom stall Saturday 1:33 am 23, February 1974...shalom, shalom Born under fire within the brushstroke of the Minister Grandmother blockade
No more for the old iron horse we threw halos 'round the heads of the Great Mother & flipped chairs in the order of their exile
from the shore trees, gardens vines ripe from the mather From the yard ethos, dreams of trespass, open doors the taste of nicotine From fingers foreign teapots, petites Madeleines things once past, now modern Glass & the softness of form within the palm: Satori, Oh Trolleys into the sun within the belly: an unfolding naval without Vishnu's lotus twirled Nabhija, gave way to ebb'd flowing units of memory No not easy, never that only the shadow which falls softly upon us all Only the ovens of modernity which jitterbugs between days marching with the yellow captains of industry the revolution balloons were in turn considered hoax & slight of hand when held before the spectacle of vacuum tubes of pixilated reality
this is not enough this is never enough from the dawn to the dust we have been promised something beyond the skin, beyond the words we were bathed within the vocabulary of thunder perfect mind we were cherished above all else pebble fish: the golden egg will crack plates spinning the cosmos and from within Jesus will tweet forth swirling tiny crackles of eggshells & a thousand million smiling Jesus wings will implode into the cacophony of sound & vision Out of life, some breath... La petite Mort These sleeves, far from ordinary from your hearth bread of multitudes (love) fingers caked with snow wiping away any labors lost only hearts beating, eyelids stirring a bit of flatulence & the taste of whiskey on my fingers as I stroke sleeping hairs goodnight deep from the sidecar train
Una Xotois a 36 year old African American poet who's base of operation is Philadelphia, Pa. He has been writing poetry and prose for about sixteen years. |
|
|
|||
|
|
Dark Lady Poetry, 2010. All Rights Reserved. ISSN 2152-8594