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Saturday, April 29, 2006

Prying Beneath the Mask (section II)

This is part II of a poem of which I posted the first part yesterday. Tommorow I will post part III.


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Prying Beneath the Mask (section II)


The muscle has shriveled,
rivers beneath my skin
reduced to mere thin streams.
Rocks exposed to sun,
a stiffening of bones.

_____

Positing the reader
as anyone . . . .
Any person who has tossed
in cold hours after midnight,
tangled in sweat-stained sheets,
wanting only to stop
the inner voice,
or praying
for a tangible body
to share the bed—
a Beloved who is more than body,
another who touches
one’s soul,
who closes the window
when blowing snow
dampens the quilt,
whose warmth
can fend off the coldest night
and bury all fears
beneath a moss-shrouded oak.

_____

The projection of emptiness:
things are loved
in folly,
a false praise
pushing the Other
toward the door. A need
thoroughly primitive,
unanswered in the eyes
of the Beloved.
Words become rain
falling to abstraction.
Only touch
reveals one’s self
in all its leafy decay,
seeking redemption
in the autobiographical stare.

_____

The Beloved binds one’s tongue,
demands forgetting,
carries the body
back to the watery source
until breath
fills the margins
of belief
with the one true name,
the body knotted
in longing. Each cell
echoes the name
of the Beloved,
a pulse of wind
swaying willow limbs
in a rhythmic prayer.

_____

This, being
the instant the eyes
open as door frames
allowing starlight
and the pale moon’s somnolent glow,
the chilly assimilation
of what is missing
into the skin-textured portrait
of identity.
Feeling as though one climbs
a ladder
leading ever higher,
each step leaving the soil
of one’s roots
further beneath the doubt
shaping each utterance,
wrought mouth
unable to taste the wine
such height entails.

_____

The open eyes, fixed
on a point of departure:
a plywood box
rolling into the furnace,
face to face
with devouring flames.
Confrontation
with the final word.
Enveloped in the strong arms
of the Beloved,
a way out
or back within.


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