Graspings #23

each day the body grows heavy. melts into the cracks
in the concrete. was there ever a time it could fly away from
this head?
so. each day it presses against the bones rattling with their
own timbre. flesh is strong in odor, in sanguine muck.

lets stay vigilant through some nights
lets stop feeding it, stop drinking, stop
urinating, stop.
lets see if it will explode. or. like the death of a star,
implode (into a memory sucking in, if
memories (ever (do) anything) else.)

time crawls up the gullies, and you shan’t have this womb
shan’t have this womb.
this womb will have cobwebs like they say too many spiders
isn’t necessarily a good thing.

they say they say but the mind doesn’t care much because it knows
too little of its meat, meat that lolls in the mouth, meat that fold and
buckle. it don’t care la la la, it don’t care honey;
it don't believe. O spirit? soul? sex?
drugs rock and lo? and
love? gender --------
bender? dare I, have gone, there?

like the mind, the heart cannot carry much weight, cannot carry
time, too much tenderness, for tenderness is flesh, is muscle, is an arm.
the heart will lie crushed. will murmur into its own prophetic death.

for me, it will go first
into a darkened room. and
the body will scream outside
in the rain.

©hRj 2008