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Apophysis-110922-16

old apophysis

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Animal woman spirit-body girl


we must somehow come to terms


with the nature of our differences.


receive a small kiss


for respect.


A tenderness of hands.


Rock and steel are


weary tools dull from


overuse, hands are cut


bruised from holding


on to too many things.


Homes are corner filled


with materials for craft


livelihoods, music peace


unused half forgotten.


Flesh gun-shy from abuse


and misunderstanding.


These words are bread made


from my hands.


Still warm fresh


wrapped in humble colored


cloth an old flag


perhaps, faded


unpatched but washed


put to good uses.


There seems to have been a war


going when we got here.


I didn't want to join


so I ditched and


am on the lam.


Are you fighting?


I hope not


you seem tired short


of temper as if struggling


from uncomfortable situations.


It is difficult to tell


though if you have


slain many or have


escaped the blade one


too many times.


Weary fashion sick


jumpy and hungry.


The war is a fantasy


made real by people


half asleep punch drunk


lazy hearted.


Your perception of the world


needs me as much as my


perception of the world needs you.


I can turn my back


on a lot of things


but never on the beauty of truth.


Mother warrior sister artist


the house is a mess


I'll clean the dishes


if you put away


the knives.

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There is a mad woman


there is not enough time


to reason with her.


she has become unreasonable.


 


Her face is purple and bruised


puffy from abuse, she has been driven


to liquid frenzy, her eyes sing rage


She swings the arms of jailers


 


on chains wrapped around her arms.


Here she comes, her teeth are


chipped and sharp from gnawing through


iron bars and stones to be free.


 


She is free now, she has twisted


away from the rules of men.


She has gone to the other side


to eat, to fill her bones.


 


That other place takes


the amniotic fluid of the eyes


and replaces it with the blood


of the wombs tortured children.


 


She has learned to leap and run


She has taken Salomes dance


and refined it to razor sharp


movements beneath her soiled robe.


 


She has learned to pronounce


the names of the Goddesses


and she has come to set them free.

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Elijah is in his underwear


asking where


is my damned jehovah


spoon and needle.


Hands shake


bumps on elbows


electric yellow stains


on holy underwear


asking where


is my ever-loving revelation


grenade pin.


Sits down on flying


dust pan tunes


into twentieth century


Pukes, trembles,


scratches at eyes,


Screams, falls back.


Blacks out-comes to


says, man,


this is some shit.


Finds out


his soul's been mainlined


to a nightmare


far up ahead.


Becomes a stock car racer


marries asixteen year


has twelves kids


raises lamas, alpacas,


doesn't vote,


waits for the end.


 


 

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