Me, Undone

I came to earth for flesh  To bend this spirit into body   To become the thing   To know the thing   To touch water   This is the mud packed with tiny sticks and berries in my hand bones   The soot, traveling up the cracks of my toes   The spring coils at the base of my neck and the glides of my hips   There are boulders  That will fall into the story of your life   Like rhythms  Meteorites smashing down   On precious land   Each weeping wound   Becomes a port hole for transformation   Pray down over those sacred spaces   Remake yourself   God   again   And  again

Look at dis woman, ya'll.  Let us look.  She cover oh ye of stars. She wrap de sky in her bosom. Oh, she smell of grace.  Fresh soil under she nails. She mixed with silt from de mighty pyramids.  De light of Sirius over she head.  Let us crown her.  Kneel down.  Dis woman, ancient.  Old and new again.

  today my grand mother  asked for my burial plot   next to   her daughter   my mo ther and i obliged having lived in her womb once in my mother’s tiny ovaries   like wooden Russian dolls   we are finding our way back home

I saw the devil last night She fucked me in cobalt blue  Dragged my body across the marble floor Pressed her thumbs into the tiny bird bones of my chest  and opened me. "Balance," she said.  Remember the dance of the light and the dark.  Stray too far from me, and I will break you. 

“Where does it hurt?” Luz asked.   “Here,” Chisa reached down and touched the bed next to her. “And where else?”   “Over here,”   she walked over and stroked the handle on the wooden dresser drawer   “And…”   Chisa unclipped the barrette from her cotton brown hair and fingered its bow.   Luz stood silently bouncing her eyes between the three places Chisa touched-had she asked the question incorrectly   or was it Chisa who failed to understand?   and then she realized suddenly that trauma   outsmarts its victim   lodged everywhere and nowhere at all.  

He revisits dislocated memory. Disjointed and fractured - seething and ready to be reconstructed again. In any way. It doesn’t care. It stumbles and gathers to its feet.   Now fully dislodged - it tells the story again. Not for truth. But for pleasure. It is dark. He tilts his head as they arrive untangled and bustling in the frame of the door. They slither over and pull up a chair next to him. And they begin their play.   Pulling and tugging - twisting and turning. Slow smile and glance over at their new feed. He darts his eyes across the room -  f ractions of seconds looped and blown open.   He clinches his fists tight -   digs his fingernails into his palms - his feet jerking violently off the floor. Teeth chattering like fractured bones. They are exacting. Each one taking what the last one left behind.   When they are done, his chair falls to the ground. Next to him, a puddle of coagulated blood. The taste of brine and metal in his...

We all have a drug on this densely packed plane soiled and stripped of our majestic selves benumbed walking universes limping by collapsed hogtied with thick plaited ropes and digital collars