4. If It Is True That The Earth Respires, That It Speaks Only To Those Who Command Nothing– If It Is

4. If it is true that the earth respires, That it speaks only to those Who command nothing– If it is true that the first man Was fashioned of corn. Of divine shit. Of dust– If a bale of cotton– If color is trance, And trance is to ride the back Of the first great bird In first flight– If the world has ended twelve times– If the atom is cognizant, coy; If light is both pow-wow And tango– If, at the final trumpet, Oil magnates will kiss the ankles Of earth-caked girls who traipse Along the highway’s edge, Hugging the mountain When trucks barrel past– If Satchmo. If Leadbelly– If wind on the horizon, Thundering the trees, Making all of our houses small–

Tracy K. Smith, from “The Nobodies” (via hypocrite-lecteur)

black lips

five weeks before you broke my heart, i had this dream where my father stood in front of me. two generations lost in close-knit shadows, facing the other in the midst of a nightmare & staring deep into the vortex of each other’s eyes.

in a rusty voice, he recited to my face every lie he’s ever told.

his childhood, the seize, the running, my mom, his misery.

in the rhythm of his words, in the flow of his lies, his lips began turning black.

Lie after lie, his lips, a shade d e e p e r in the obscurity.

turning my back on this show proved useless, as my neck was stiff & my legs, knee-deep in thick soil.

stare & listen, while tears water the ground

i tried screaming, as to suffocate the torture of his words with my own shriek. but my mouth was sealed closed & my hands, disloyal to my commands.

i woke up a fountain of cold sweat, sobbing.

….

two nights before we murdered our love in cold blood, we met for drinks at a bar à vins. the gleam in our eyes yelled to the entire world how traces of ancient grapes ran in our blood. god were we playful while life was onto us.

sneaky little romance

we talked about it all that night: gravity & flying, friction & fire, language & riddles. for the 500th time, you corrected my pronunciation of the letter u. & in the stretching of your mouth, i fell victim to the evident art in your beauty; jawlines dancing in perfect rhythm; an enigmatic symmetry traced in your face.

on our way home, we walked the streets as if sidewalks were made for peasants & we had just been crowned kings. laughing, stumbling, holding onto each other.

in a deserted street, you wrapped me in your arms while murmuring in a secretive voice:

i love you

we both smiled.

& under beams of moonlight, while my eyes hunted for your eyes, i noticed red wine had stained your lips black.

- @skinthepoet

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salinyay-blog

7 years ago