March 26, 2016

there was this time

'Nude Torso in The Forest'
c 1958 by Wynn Bullock ©

i was jaguar 
the wear 
on your soul 
trying to remember 
you were trying to find me 
in a land 
of reciprocals 
honey iron seashell 
did you tell any body 
about when we went 
cemetery surviving...?

yage root snuff dart river deep mother jungle 
beat slow breath fantasia you only believe in a now 
paced bones skin tomes loam you dig in find soul 
root curry pretend and name your pattern in the chaos...


1 comment:

  1. I flipping LOVE this poem. All the animals at the beginning especially. And that bangin' final stanza. Crazy good. I'm wondering though ... the opening talks about what you were, which leads me (and you) into curiosity's kitchen asking what you are now. Don't say. You don't know yet. But how exciting that you're on the brink of beginning to find out.

    I can't imagine you ever being "monk"-ey, but I'm sure it's true. If you said it. (Ooh, Monk. Such a great show.)

    lizard = Liz hard ... So now I want to hear the story of you, Liz, and hard. :P spider = spy dear, the we are (wear) ... we are

    I think it IS trying
    to remember.
    That is why I live in the now.
    Erase. Make every day something new.
    Let the memory be a fuzzy feeling
    rather than something crisp
    that only hurts.

    offering = off earring or off-earing (off-hearing) ... misunderstandings abound in this scenario; but I love the detail of the earring having fallen off or having been pulled off in the mad rush of animal "hands" and such

    offering she'll tear ... I love that there's always a ripping inside of tears; so gorgeous ... also, there's a shell/sea girl in this ... on land ... I love any/body split like that, because never ever tell your secrets to someone living. That reminds me of this song:

    re-sip-rock-alls ... so much love for this word split

    cemetery ... see me teary ...

    Never. It's locked in the vault.

    "yage" ... what a great word; that's so me :)

    Seriously ... I'm so crazy about that last stanza. It gets me all excited. "you dig in; find soul" ... What else should I do with myself? It's obviously what I was born for.

    I love curry. And cure-ey(e)s. And Madame Curie. And radio-activity. And you and your poems. No pretending here. But I will never // name // my pattern. Chaos, as you re-quest-ed, is free.