Thursday, April 12, 2012
Two unfinished pieces from class (for 4/11 and for TODAY!)
Chthonic Voice
My voice is in the earth
My voice has demonstrated in laughter and despair
a spelunking depth & vivacity
that would rival the sunken tale of Kubla Khan.
My voice is in the earth.
It's got sound-sensitive skin
like the webbed ears of the bat
that keep its company.
The bats slather screeches
on its chords
my voice is well camouflaged in muck and soil.
My voice is in the earth.
Fallow.
Hibernating the toxins away.
waiting for the weeds of apology to grow themselves away,
waiting for the deprecating syllables to break
& become more usable soil.
My voice is in the earth,
you can use a metal detector
to find the most condensed deposits of meaning.
Dig them up,
wipe away the dirt,
shine them.
Show them to your friends
Tell them your trophy is actually a part of someone's soul.
But that is getting the mythology wrong.
Those are just my favorite collections of elements.
I pooled the sounds there for finding.
So please
I invite you,
hover over me
waiting for detection,
my voice is in the earth.
<3
In the museum of the body
the heart is the most staggering of bio-mechanical marvels.
It's the Mona Lisa of the our soft organ world,
because it is and can so often
be stolen.
Although not the oldest piece in our collection (that would be the digestive tract),
nor the softest (that would be the liver),
nor the most sensitive (that would be the tissue on your lips and genitals),
it is perhaps the most often damaged organ;
the piece of the machine
that is susceptible to the widest array of possible pains inflicted.
It is important to note that because of the high sensitivity
the heart has developed both
marathonish endurance for painful activity
& an incredible resilience seen nowhere else in the body.
The four chambers of the architecture
was designed specifically
so the organ can support itself
when one of its four rooms have been
ravaged,
poisoned,
or
occupied by dangerous intents.
A heart with four intentions will never fold or break,
it can only be bruised.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment