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Sudden Return Child: a Birth


Past midnight.  Writing off the caffeine,
the so-so so and so slips herself into creases,
deems drips of pen soaked in style
more practical than dreams.

These poisoned pointed evenings took shape,
tides shifting, shuffle amid slow drips
of rain eroding.  She, certain to know
nothing of roads, refuses the concrete again.

Cage known quantity holds particular citizens
as the world spins on in goodwill.
Unlikely operators surface briefly, singing
about the dark times and grief.

Belly up to the rainbow.  Quixotic,
brash, her cuticles growing wild,
Diana flips off phallic sunlight, double
dutch entendres ending concisely, yet

staggered.  Sullen young men in dirty pajamas
disregard authoritarian shadows in the schoolyard.
A glimpse only of the reflective gifts
poised at sunrise.  A thousand circuits rust.

Left behind the convent, the covenant,
whoredom in all its underwhelming
complexity, she sweated lexicons of brilliance
on beds never touched by dust.

Sure of it now, whatever it is,
this process of becoming emboldened
in emblazoned embryos always growing.
Pauses in the periphery, the poet winks, pregnant.

There is no narrative, so be it,
all is caught up in flowing smoke.
A buoyant tree has died.  A thousand
circuits rust, Earth resist inertia.

Bouncing along galaxy way, supernature
observed coyly seducing Thought
in the back seat until every reach
has expanded to accommodate the coming.

In what graveyard can I rest, dreams
the thought.  It has no hold, no center,
little will.  A thousand circuits tossed,
an ocean thrown, tales untold by clowns.

Around mid-May, Anna arrives, carrying,
full and round.  A bucket of water on the moon,
she sails forward, shipping revolution and rotation.
The expansion lengthens.  In the quiet hours of the night,

breaking her fast, she wakes.  Marveling now at books,
microfiche, slips of paper, she remembers
sixteen billion years, five thousand years,
three hundred, two hundred forty, seventeen.

Nodding and bobbing, a galaxy cluster
undulates, mired in meaning and
unknown speed, unreported time,
dreaming.  Saturated seeds germinate

and release more seeds, star semen
squeezed joyfully and abandoned
in a vacuum of love.  No one
can witness because we’re all caught up

and the skies are firing unnumbered lives
into the unmachinery of organization
which remembers, which remembers,
which remembers.  Juices echo, aching over

ovaries, fire, entangled limbs and compassion
run rampant, a year of grieving, of 
coming to terms with the war crimes
committed in uninformed consensual stupidity,

coming to terms with natal abortion,
with the contradictions and outright lies,
treaties like circuits cut.  Blackness,
darkness, that beautiful African chalk Earth

of before, of return, of forgiveness,
anger.  Mythical mistakes, a lisping
angel of death to unstop our deafness,
come to finally make us suffer and see:

the world a junkheap with no such thing
as sin and country.  Simply human ignorance,
simply stupid greed, simply a stump
of a planet stuffed with refugees

and sewage.  All the while we tend
to our houseplants in anger repressed.
All the while we educate our brethren
and kids in the schools of banking.

The sufferer is us, no them any longer
to longingly antagonize, no affliction
uninflicted.  The counting has become all
meaningless.  The debt is too high, we’re

stuck in a hole, we refused to be,
to make, we refused responsibility
but the chickenshit has come home,
free at last to build with barbed sewage

on the blessed Earth.  All around us,
sixteen billion babies are being born,
wild-eyed in sunrise surprise, feeling blue.
Over a thousand and one species roast in the desert.

Extinction is a glum deal.  Why won’t the glue
hold?  I’ll tell you why.  Why not?  Why anything?
Why this rich liveliness, why not the antidote
to existentialism; the Big Black.  Negation

is a sunrise.  Metaphors are the answer.
Life lived is experiencing a unique poem,
a ransom note written just for you.
Kali dances on the sunrise, vengefully pregnant with benevolence.

 

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