i’ll try to squeeze my roundness into the squareness of this week
But first
i need you, earthy tongue and supple fingers to kneed and shape me
like you do those pieces of bric-a-brac:
Metal crimped and thrusting into space,
Or canvases shocked into quiescence by furious spatter.
i need a night’s riotous transcendence
where skin and sea and breath pulse our hearts and flay our souls;
Flume-and-flame, a plunge into primordial sea, but then—
Sundering from flesh, opening into atoms,
into
sky.
Cells hold the memories,
Drawing us into tomorrow
Where i becomes I.
This article appears in July 2012.
