A Most Humiliating Ascent

The harder I try to pluck at the muck of every mood swing,

At the panic in my instinct,

The stronger the snapback and snag is of 

My knotted rebellion of DNA.

Labyrinthine yarnball of my bloodline

spilling in-between my fingers—

Every taint and tendency pool murky, irresolute.

I tug at the string, 

loosely at first, but the stubborn knot won’t give until

Finally, I am clawing at the constituents of me,

Battling the helixes of my genome with bare hands.

adenosine-darkskinbigsmile-thymine

cytosine-widehipsnarrowpatience-guanine

adenosine-ballnoseandclosemouthed-thymine

cytosine-funnybonegutturalgroan-guanine

Rung by rung, I fever dream my way up this 

Sick and shoddy ladder;

What humiliating ascent!

What strange science is this that I cannot algorithm 

My way out of?

Is no protein acid chain I can inject to synthesize joy.

Miserable woman that I am, indeed.

Still, I kick and scream at this plight,

Will not go gently into that good night;

The blood of the Lamb

Spilling inbetween God’s fingers.

About: a self-portait, I suppose. 

post script: references from Dylan Thomas in Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night and the Apostle Paul in Romans 7:24

Chronic

On my ugliest days,

You could not convince the algae to

disentangle from my already kinked naps.

1:19am and I am still picking the fronds out,

as if to say

Yes, but you weathered the storm, didn’t you?

Sure, the jagged cut burns every time 

You furrow your left brow.

But at least the jagged cut burns.

Am I right?

Somewhere between a punchline and a gut-punch,

My survival lays in wait for its next reckoning.

ABOUT: my chronic clinical depression

10 Reasons I Will Not Fight With You

10) Hypothetical bully is begging me to take a swing. Maybe I’ve just double-fisted hot fries. Now, what? Abandon the crunch and spicy deliciousness in exchange for empty hands and insatiable fury?

9) The building is on fire and you’re debating the Super Soaker versus a gardening pail: how do you suggest we make it out alive?

8) And should we survive, the bitter knot, not capable of passing through, snowballs into an ugly embolism until the heart is clot with resentment: I cannot fathom greater wreckage of so precious two human beings.

7) My brothers stay encaged for their heartwideopen liberating of love; they could not lock the love up and so put chains to flesh instead. “We have a wrestling not against blood and flesh, but against the governments, against the authorities...”

6) I mean come on, an infant suffers a cranial depression and six broken ribs after a rough tumble with the kitchen floor? “...Against the world rulers of this darkness, against the wicked spirit forces in the heavenly places.”

5) All of that innocent blood dripping from the lips of the lion, can you not discern he is insatiable? The incessant ache for Christ gnawing at its intestines.

4) And yet: “Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father to supply me at this moment more than 12 legions of angels?” 

3) Of all the miracles Jesus performed, I take his patience for granted.

2) Look at the way Jehovah’s patience draws out like a constellation amidst eons of dark; circles its light around the shape of my body; I am floating on this light alone.

1) My king’s arrow is drawn, we will fight at dawn

ABOUT// we recently studied, in depth, the inspiring Bible chapter Ephesians 6 at our meeting; thought I would write a poem about it.

Quotations from: Ephesians 6:12. Matthew 26:53

Music Theory

Tchaikovsky’s in the pit again.

(No, not “the pits”, 

His art is no vehicle to your vacuity,

But Rather a means to your unfurling)

Curled fists swing dance around 

allegro con spirito.

Crass brass out-bass the violins while their

Palpable angst and sweat stain the concrete;

Bows of their brothers viola scratch 

In futile defense against the bent-legged trombone breath.

Woodwind would wind and will 

Still staccato belted bellows.

Cellos are wailing aloud!

Crowd of ornery misfits bang their bodies

Not unlike slabs of cherrywood until

Twelve minutes and ten seconds into

his piano concerto number one in B-flat minor,

a thunder strike sends the crowd into a grand ripple

Boom

Piano-light feet of the mob scatter

pitter-patter into the rain.

ABOUT: Tchaikovsky’s concerto no. 1 reminded me of a heavy metal mosh pit. My brain is always clashing genres like this.

Behind Seljalandsfoss

What is freshman-year geometry doing

Crouched behind so modest an abode? 

Had not expected to discover Pythagoras 

Sneaking peek through peak of falling spring,

Or prisms of electromagnetic energy 

to lock eyes with mine

(Emeraldtangerine so effortlessly flush with violet);

To utter:

You know nothing of His wealth.

About: a breathtaking waterfall I saw in Iceland that reminded me of how smart Jehovah is.

Without Pride

I.
African king with his lioness tread high water

To prey where they please.

Were this hunger a disease, 

Salt blown in from the sea might appease

The parasitic need settling into his mane.

But, as it were, this hunger was more criminal 

Than it was a cancer.

Now, just two cats stray from a hot den,

whisker-dripping with refuse, 

a souring piece of American pie caught in the mange—

Can you imagine? 

A lion without his pride.

When my father hunts, 

I worry his hind paws will snag in the hindsight 

While his fore paws claw aimless as if 

racing in repose.

(Pray tell, against whom?

and I will charge their den for you.)

And what of my mother?
Modern Sarabi of sorts, mourning her king
(though still among the living.)
So when I say I am so sorry
what I mean is:
I would split my soul in two for you

that you may rest in this divide.

II.
I am wolf blood racing fear
and born of two lost lions;
yet you ask,
why this rage?


About: A family of lions is also referred to as a pride.

Postscript: Though spirit is undetectable to the human body, it alone, is thicker than blood.

Interrogating Thirty

Thirty is no gold-strike epiphany.

Does not feel found,

but flickering light

(But light still flickering.)

A bickering dollop of heat with its own shadow;

As in, is this joint supposed to pop so proud?

And with such frequency!

And then:

No, but baby you can still embody grace.

And what will 60 think when

We come knocking at her gates?

And what good does this shame do, anyway?

What really is this age, 

but a cool sweat trickling down a nervous spine?

Of flickering light

(But light still flickering)

An omnipresence tickling this passing of time.
A playful trickery of smoke in flight.

Woman I was before at war with
more blackgirlrage
more humanity teetering on animal
more demons at the jugular of my brotherhood

more nuclear Molotov's crashing against my core
more war, this spirit thrashing within body, 

that I may be refined.

I surmise that this is all thirty really means:
A playful trickery of smoke in flight
and flickering light
that by God
will not be snuffed.

Did you hear me?
I will not be extinguished

about// on turning 30 soon

post script:  Fun physics fact-- fire can only create a shadow when there is a more powerful light source behind the firelight. Poetically speaking, this is a light that only God can emit.