jump start my exile
My hands were sewn into a gesture of mute skin
My eyes held open with a promise of scent
My feet in shadows
disappeared into an opaque storm
A body born anonymous from an unexplored belly
I licked the blood of your womb
and pushed through the membrane of subtleties
screamed fragments of breath
and started to die
This is intense. Birth is that moment when dying begins. I've always been sorta pissed that I can't actually remember that moment. My head bursting forth from my mother's vagina. Maye this is why I fuck. To get back to the womb. And I won't know my last breath either. That's the twilight zone in which we live, I guess. Why do cats get 9 lives? I couldn't say, but I have a feeling they wished they had 10. I don't know your inner meaning here, so just blabber about what to do before I die. You provoke me to think...that is what this poem means to me.
ReplyDeleteDan - it all started 57 years ago today for me . . . have been dying ever sense.
ReplyDelete[the idea that anything put to paper or an image in front of us makes one ask
about who we are as a result of the experience is a great thing. i don't mean that to sound arrogant, i have written this part out three times now so i hope you understand where i am coming from.]
~robert
I am 67, That makes me your big brother, you ain't seen nothing yet! Just kidding. You don't sound arrogant at all. You sound the opposite of that. You are stronger than you think, because you think...and feel, and try to find ways to say it. That's a good thing. d.
ReplyDeletethanks you old geezer!
ReplyDeletehappy belated birthday, Robert! poignant words you speak too,
ReplyDeleteit is not only your images that enchant. and don't worry, you
ain't seen anything yet!!! from my neck of the woods, it seems
i am living already a few in this life span only, for sure.
best wishes, always
a birthday hug, tanya
tanya - what i wonderful surprise.
ReplyDeletethank you.