I open my lungs to the moist dirt between
sidewalk cracks.
Atoms severed from the whole transcend
previous existence, take flight and enter my
body evaporating through tunnels, sinus
storm-drains built beneath my bones.
Particles intertwine themselves around
rooted hair shafts, excite neurons
electrical synapses, the sinew of sense
and memory ingraining fleshy shores of
my brain with cartography not yet understood.
So I too one day amputate this existence, navigate
to the peel covering concrete entombed earth
becoming dust, mud levees holding back waters
swollen by the pull of moon, slow earth thrown
to the casket. The comital of broken deadfall
in winter buried in un-named forests turned
black earth, turned home to black shelled
scarabs, turned nest.
Let the earth do this turning lament for me
let me be food for hungry worm mouths
the secret held between the hands of mice
warm within their family den, to the beak of young
howls turned night hunters, let me feed their
wingspan, nourishing fascia, the miracle
consensus between hard muscle fiber and
soft feather wherein miracle of flight is born.
Let the earth kneed me into nucleus seed
from where its hands are born,
forms sinuses from hollowed trunks and
lines its bones with me
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:43 AM UTC
I open my lungs to the moist dirt between
sidewalk cracks.
Atoms severed from the whole transcend
previous existence, take flight and enter my
body evaporating through tunnels, sinus
storm-drains built beneath my bones.
Particles intertwine themselves around
rooted hair shafts, excite neurons
electrical synapses, the sinew of sense
and memory ingraining fleshy shores of
my brain with cartography not yet understood.
So I too one day amputate this existence, navigate
to the peel covering concrete entombed earth
becoming dust, mud levees holding back waters
swollen by the pull of moon, slow earth thrown
to the casket. The comital of broken deadfall
in winter buried in un-named forests turned
black earth, turned home to black shelled
scarabs, turned nest.
Let the earth do this turning lament for me
let me be food for hungry worm mouths
the secret held between the hands of mice
warm within their family den, to the beak of young
howls turned night hunters, let me feed their
wingspan, nourishing fascia, the miracle
consensus between hard muscle fiber and
soft feather wherein miracle of flight is born.
Let the earth kneed me into nucleus seed
from where its hands are born,
forms sinuses from hollowed trunks and
lines its bones with me
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