#on birth

[serratedpens]

'Placenta Shed My,' aracelis girmay

[tamsoj]

Death, I’ve learned, she lives in all of us the moment we are born.

Lidia Yuknavitch, The Small Backs of Children: A Novel, “Bloodsong”

[ghstbrd]

She learned the truth about the Mystery. She learned that miracles are bloody and sometimes come with mud sticking to them. She learned that women were braver than men. Braver and stronger. She learned that she herself could one day stretch open as wide as a window, and it would not kill her.

- Luis Alberto Urrea, The Hummingbird's Daughter

[sawthefaeriequeen]

So I’m fighting and fighting to reach it, to gain an exit from that burning interior, and I’m scrabbling for purchase on the slippery walls that keep closing against me. For the first time in my life, I feel I have a thing to do, a place I must get to, and with only willpower to help me, I yearn to escape. I do battle. I see the world. It disappears. Again, I see it. And then I am out, all in a slither, and the courtesy of the sudden cold is wonderful as I reach the place where, on maps, they used to write, “Here There Be Dragons.” I am euphoric because there is space, and there is whiteness, and there is something luminous trembling in the air. From up to down, from heat to cold, from darkness to whiteness, from enclosure to freedom. I have reached my first latitude; I am here, in the world, arrived, and I love it.

Elizabeth Arthur, Antarctic Navigation

[vicioustrap-blog]

having survived the equinox

pt.1 whisky from strangers

we recline together silent skin soft from sweat and kneading hands your every wrinkle and crease a chasm formed by the flowing streams of perspiration now puddling in the grass around us

our daily toil these mortar and pestle loins grinding wheat to bone for bread that will never rise

I tickle your feet forcing spasms of near-laughter roll you face down and scale you from behind my breasts against your back and fingers up your ass

my old man my socrates

we have this then if no other: time spent and the touch of our hands

as we fall still again I smile and wipe away the nectars the tears and sweat and semen spilling to the ground

the waves below us crack and peal against the rock cliff and the whole world turns to melting butter slowly washed away

pt.2 the nymphs of spring

the smell of lilac pungent hovers through the fog and filthy air plugs my nose to bursting and I become lost to the dull thud of my fore-brain

the soft repose of winter-white down has hardened now to bare earth and the budding flora reckless for growth poison my lungs with their coital dust

spring erupts a cruel geyser of activity events of consequence that portend later lament and countless months of gestation regret and revenge

you burst forth incarnate tribulation deformed from the earth (some say a serpent, others a bird) hunched-back and uncertain loins abandoned as still-birth and compost for the soil

the grass is soft around you and a small vine wraps your torso for warmth or restraint I can’t be sure (safe-keeping can have many meanings)

I lay with you till sunrise and find the dew refreshing as it settles on the edge of an eyelash and slips down my cheek

dust to dust and so forth ashes into clouds

Then ferry you home gentle in my arms meager and mangled, my orphan child wrap you in black cloth to hide your misfortune and construct a casket of oak to be your bed for the night and the home you call your own

later I will nail the lid for your protection and commit you to the barren sisters as a gift

pt.3 arrival of the sun

these oak walls hold no interest what they have to say was said their grain runs east-west with knots at quarter three and just below my elbow

the wood has begun to warp just enough to see my hands as a splinter of light burns through

my eyes adjust and I spend the morning listing words and phrases that rhyme or evoke isolation like the rain against the window pane or the gentle sting of summer grass

the sun is lonely too I imagine and birds of a feather and lions in winter and sheep for the sheering and so on

strange events are taking form just below my waist the coiled flesh which gives me name chameleon-like transforms itself now soft, now solid, now trembling for my touch while further down an ache sets in announcing the day and week and impending deluge of blood

always so much blood

and in my spare time I conjure up giants half-human god-swans that ravish and plunge and bring darkness to the earth

but life is a tragic imitation of the arts only language embellished without rhythm or harmony

and this is all I know for sure only rotting flesh this carcass this sack of blood and shit this corpse we call ourselves

and afterwards no one will remember as we flitter invisible among the indistinct dead

pt.4 let slip the dogs of war

eventually a box must rot away or be smashed open by the envy-mad sister of your accidental captor

every Dolores Haze must have a Humbert Humbert to carry her away

on impact with the ocean waves these oak walls splinter and shake and I am borne under by the tide pushed back towards shore to be released against this rock

again the darkness again the sulfur smell again the arriving panic the sweet incessant scent of home

every tour of hell must begin somewhere one cave is as good as another

pt.5 a lyre and a crown of roses

I discover the old man by the cliffs edge naked and wet with cum his play-child at his feet and the lantern in it’s tower casting a slow light across them both now here, now gone, now here again

his form shifts as I watch their copulation now wizened boar now billy-goat ram now gelding, stot and steer I know his smell the raven stench of his fornication

I know my birth ripped untimely from the soil and I know my source my hooded crow progenitor

and I hear the ancient muse the nymphs of spring rise up behind me from the foam and froth the broken waves not yet to shore offspring of the night and daughters of castration winged creatures, whip in hand blood drips from their eyes and snakes ghastly and gorgon-like cling to their scalp

These aweful sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine and thrice to mine And thrice again, to make up nine.

the angry ones wings of a bat or bird and the body of a dog all curves all sex and juices all cursing vengeance all anger of the dead

and in their wake: justice myself, the serpentine

thick blood drains from the mangled flesh I call my groin

come closer, father come close to me embrace your serpent child thrice damned this daughter of Dante’s brood console your broken son

for we are one, I whisper as I slip my dull blade into place between his open thighs

once god, once man, once onan’s swan and rascal rake once confessor, now confessed he faints from hemorrhage as I rise this fallen giant, barren by my blade infertile infant sister by his side and I, his serpent child watching over as he dies

when the blood stops I toss his genital remains into the sea for safe keeping

from dust to ashes and fire to feed the furies

[vicioustrap-blog]

finding your way in the tunnels at night

pt.1 these lunar tides

on the seventh day of each month right before the blood-exit a crack forms wide beneath my limestone bed and strange smells sulfur and olive oil searing and sun-filled crowd the room

twin serpents carved in stone rise up behind me and a hundred silent figures struggle through the opening on the far wall scarce large enough for a child

they speak at once all discord and flaming eyes probing my naked form for answers but I’ve lost their words under the pumping of my blood and I can’t find my breath in this fevered light

I do my best to present myself squinting and winded as I am but the pain from those eyes pounds at my chest till I’m thrown back suddenly stumbling doubled under and grasping for support seize tight the speleothem with a shock through my core and arch back screeching before I faint there between the rocks with arms and legs splayed out and sweat forming behind my eyes

it’s dizzying to say the least (and I do)

the walls of the cave hum with anticipation and darkness

here again the darkness as if it’s not always creeping from below and teetering (white-knuckled) with power

I have no wisdom for you only these words strung together as they arrive:

--death will come to those who wait, I say and --a sacrifice of one, to save them all and step on a crack (and so forth)

I always use small words when speaking to giants so I don’t lose track and start dancing mid-sentance

and when I die you can throw me down the river with my music so the virgins of lesbos may find me and bury my head for later use

if I’m lucky

pt.2 reclaimed

silence the moment after the crash the moment the sperm spill to the ground

when it’s dripping down my leg it’s only natural 100% mixed juices from concentrated hip thrust and pull (my chalice runneth over)

actions of uncertain magnitude effect the purging of emotions and other dead weight

jetsam to be collected later and spillage fecund the spectrum of evolution from her loins

she she is an innocent but he has robes and four faces and invented music by stretching the guts of bulls across the shell of a dead tortoise

he has children with the mountains and the canyons but with her with her only spilled oil wells and PR disasters top kill inertial trajectory

what a mess

the angels gather dark and circling as he comes bird-black a swan with eyes that tickle and grunt feathers frayed talons worn and his seed fallen to the ground

love with its venom irresistible and bitter that loosener of limbs reptile-like strikes me down and pain penetrates me drop by drop

I confess I love that which caresses me

but these levy walls hold back the tide and I survive un-stung the frenzied woman from whose loin-lips the gods speak in trembling tongues as you slip to the ground turning concrete to mud (and it’s here that we dance)

her thighs are open because the earth cannot close herself no matter how she tries and the crows are eating what’s left of you and our feet move rhythmically crushing a soft circle in the flowering grass around you pounding cancerous zygote growth through her upper mantle and crust while plate tectonics grind plains into mountains and you split her womb-core from within (spontaneous cesarean ejaculation) your features resemble only the bifurcations of the mandragore serpentine guardian son of the soil the great python reborn from it’s own rotting grave

mother and child

pt.3 rhythm and harmony

rich as you are death will finish you

pt.4 outline of a girl

I lure them near all wingéd things all fairy birds and angel tufts and spill blackness over them for the choices they once had and loosed upon the earth

I hate the way things fall from the sky as though there are rules to be followed as though one action leads to another and the prophetic mutterings of a fainting virgin can be re-interpreted like rorschach schematics when all I see is snakes

(his porcelain frame skeleton like bird’s hair)

(the one I giggled at the one that swallowed me whole)

I’ll spend the rest of my life in this attic if I must painting black ink and viscous oil onto every last wingéd body only to hold him in my thoughts

and if I meet him suddenly I can’t speak my tongue is broken, a thin flame runs under my skin and I turn paler than dry grass

at such times death isn’t far from me

my shaking hands drip greasepaint puddles on the floor around your coffer

we are both of us locked away for safe keeping

pt.5 unholy love

examples of objects not in free fall:

this feather I hold

my razor, stained and rusting

his shoes over my heart

salt tears and whimpers extracted by his tongue

this lock and box I stand on

the monstrous child within

a tortoise made of guts

half bird, half snake you creature from the earth and daughter to the sky

I’ve made your bed now sleep

and for your sake may you never wake again

pt.6 an action that is serious and complete

at noontime when the earth is bright with flaming heat this cricket sets up a high-pitched singing from her wings

never mind what I’ve lost I have you now

never mind the past vacations and travel plans we’re here together with my knife at your throat

the essential condition for a kiss is that lips meet there is no special technique required

you catch me as I fall and we are one

my blade cuts deep we explore the body and discover fluids that congeal on the ground

and in the absence of other forces we experience weightlessness

I’ve watched the moon and the pleiades go down

the night is half gone and I am alone