I mean
( wingbone, my God )
Presumed afterthought of architecture,
But were we the albatross,
Could not dream of soaring
without this anatomical mooring to flight.
(Oh parentheses of my human!)
The bulk of my body may bleed,
But when taut muscles collapse in song,
Scapula Slow Dance with scapula,
I look at God.
Mmm
is for metaphor
Thought, the seed
in a clumsy stampede through Broca's garden of weeds
(or a reticent retreat back to the root in shame)
Mmm
Is it a bird? Or a plane?
The seed has sprout out the forebrain
and shot clear past the constraints of
vocal cords bearing chords the sound of irises—
in a clumsy stampede through Broca's garden of weeds
(or a reticent retreat back to the root in shame)
Mmm
Is it a bird? Or a plane?
The seed has sprout out the forebrain
and shot clear past the constraints of
vocal cords bearing chords the sound of irises—
Purple and rich and relentless.
Mmmhmmm
When I watch how that sound was begot from naught
You know, I can't help but look at God.
Every mood, every mind is a mechanism--
The Engineer, generating the elegy or acrostic
to weep with or ruminate within.
Deconstruct the poem
and organs fall at your feet.
Sonnet the kidney wide open:
The machine sputters in protest.
Lovesong your way through each vertebrae:
The machine whines, wheezes.
Villanelle the very being The Engineer conceived:
I look at God, my Author, my King.
about// the human body is both industry and poem
When I watch how that sound was begot from naught
You know, I can't help but look at God.
Every mood, every mind is a mechanism--
The Engineer, generating the elegy or acrostic
to weep with or ruminate within.
Deconstruct the poem
and organs fall at your feet.
Sonnet the kidney wide open:
The machine sputters in protest.
Lovesong your way through each vertebrae:
The machine whines, wheezes.
Villanelle the very being The Engineer conceived:
I look at God, my Author, my King.
about// the human body is both industry and poem
