Sunday, May 22, 2011

Slave Ship Logic

slaver \SLAV-uhr; SLAY-vuhr\, intransitive verb:
to let saliva run from the mouth; slobber; drool.

[Origin: 1275-1325; <>Middle English slaver (n.), slaveren (v.), probably < Scandinavian]

What is spittle?
the black rust of ground water;
the leaky soil?
What is clung to the cleft of my lips?

(Where is my tongue?)

I have fallowed the bed, searching:
sheets, now, of strewn stones;
veins; banks; belching; bones.
I have followed the red.

But blood is deceptive:
it pushes without pause;
pumps all ideas the same:
Blood is ever deceptive.
And it is,
unfortunately,
everywhere.

Except in my lost tongue:
there there is only
ash;
Dusty, grey, rolling swells of lonely carbon;
A profane land teeming with a seemingly endless absence;
There
there is
only gone.

Essence escapes me.
(gone)
Time drives home.
(gone)
Life is almost.
(gone)

1 comment:

Jenica Strife-Burgos said...

A decade
(said all funny,
like a JFK impression, I know you know.)
has passed, passive, grid-marked.
tossed like a net
cast.

I aged well.
The rogue's life suited me.
I've stolen, lied and screamed with laughter
a thousand thousand times
since your hands were around my throat.
I'm sure you've put it all behind you.
I have, mostly.
I can barely detect you;
my trajectory has decayed
to the point of doldrums
but fuck, I spun off so hard
from you.
So of course I still wonder.

We were like twins in the belly
more that than lovers
(it made sex with you, frankly, perverse ;) )
I used to wish to meet you again,
pick up exactly where we left off.
I kicked your ass like a man
countless times
behind my eyes
but now if I ever see you
I will simply look.
I will take your gaze
as a trophy
I will command the world
to balm your boiling heart.

I will sail you
across the river
on a tiny ship
made of string and shells.