You’ve taken a real break
Cold drinks and powdered worms
Sun dried meats and throat burns.
No time to think about anyone’s place
In the choreography of the insane performer
Who envelops all of her children
Worker ants, here to play.
You dig but can’t find a bottom
Touching shapes in a dark room
A blind expanse of mystery at the nucleus
The thing that keeps you breathing at night
Paints your dreams with the voices of ancestors
The thing that makes a seed fly
Your organs play on their own
Makes a snake eat its own tail
A dog eat its own shit
A human torture another
A plant save a life
Makes One emerge from Zero
A magician trick a fool…
The word made flesh, and waiting to be consumed
Back to the womb.
You woke up, for once not drenched
in your own personal mythology
Not suffocating under layers of thickly coated symbols.
They emerged gently as jigsaw pieces
floating towards one another
This is one of your strangest lives.
We’ll be there with our scalpels
Anytime you’re ready to stop
We’ll slit open the eye
You keep trying to sew shut
And sterilize with ethanol
But the wound is the message.
We sent you waves of misty clues
Vague teases in the night haze
We whispered back when you screamed
Again and again in spoiled desperation
You loaded your brain with colors
Packed your nose with tree ash
You stuffed your teeth with strings
Gorged the child in you with plastic
Filled your throat with fruit venom
Pumped your stomach acid onto the world
Shoved your skin into others’ minds
Anything to suspend the moment.
We were always there
All we ask is that you be quiet for a day