skypoet
12-21-2002, 01:22 PM
LIKE A THOUSAND WORDS
my soul is like a thousand words, unspoken
put away with rusty blankets
my dreams are like liquid silver flowing tight ropes,
clasped on tempt words that only sing songs around my neck
in the first eclipse,
on thursday
january 12, 1980
born
i was born to speak tongues anointed at my fingertips
rising above cold suns love tomorrow, but
let it be sold, sold
like old souls kissed,
my spirit was once juicy fruit
smacked in jaws, enjoyed.
now, tunnel vision got me on
hard feet climbing uneven roads
the dusty splatter in my internal rites of passage
i am the opal of the ivory seas
sold….passing gazing moons on vessels
redeemed precious metal belongings-to the other
these lyric sons of adam, negro spit
i feel like-like i am lounging on their lives
transformed skin
french thick black to queens and kings—
now sealed-open
channeling life to breath into this ancient yawn
pouring libation from the hips of apple trees
i heave black on my back,
stools on white mobs unable to see
my red heart bleeding,
my blue blood meeting oxygen
flesh touched skin
i could once strip the wings off butterflies
paste them to my armpits
shudder at their evolution
but rejoice, only existing when changing positions
feel me, cutting pods out the awakening
bitterroot- in pastel imaginings lower falls in a
pot luck womb primed
under a whole new identity
i have seen me before jumping,
in side my self-pulling poison
dazed in sweet-sweat
hoping to catch my breath
wanting to drink out streams, almost relieved
becoming a cliché item,
buried in forked skin plush
woman scorned?
almost, i can just taste the better line of life/deaf
clapping, welcoming home
dancing in acclaimed democracy
my soul is like a thousand words, unspoken
put away with rusty blankets
my dreams are like liquid silver flowing tight ropes,
clasped on tempt words that only sing songs around my neck
in the first eclipse,
on thursday
january 12, 1980
born
i was born to speak tongues anointed at my fingertips
rising above cold suns love tomorrow, but
let it be sold, sold
like old souls kissed,
my spirit was once juicy fruit
smacked in jaws, enjoyed.
now, tunnel vision got me on
hard feet climbing uneven roads
the dusty splatter in my internal rites of passage
i am the opal of the ivory seas
sold….passing gazing moons on vessels
redeemed precious metal belongings-to the other
these lyric sons of adam, negro spit
i feel like-like i am lounging on their lives
transformed skin
french thick black to queens and kings—
now sealed-open
channeling life to breath into this ancient yawn
pouring libation from the hips of apple trees
i heave black on my back,
stools on white mobs unable to see
my red heart bleeding,
my blue blood meeting oxygen
flesh touched skin
i could once strip the wings off butterflies
paste them to my armpits
shudder at their evolution
but rejoice, only existing when changing positions
feel me, cutting pods out the awakening
bitterroot- in pastel imaginings lower falls in a
pot luck womb primed
under a whole new identity
i have seen me before jumping,
in side my self-pulling poison
dazed in sweet-sweat
hoping to catch my breath
wanting to drink out streams, almost relieved
becoming a cliché item,
buried in forked skin plush
woman scorned?
almost, i can just taste the better line of life/deaf
clapping, welcoming home
dancing in acclaimed democracy