From my book, The Evolution of A Word Made Flesh
I am not sure what the feeling was, or how I began to write this one.
All I can say is that it was inspired by my loathing of religion as a means
to control people's minds and my loathing of me at the time to not be
able to write anything that didn't have to do with 'love' or 'romance'.
Click below to listen to a reading of the poem as you read along.
The birth of a romance begins when a boy
writes about breasts, lips and
pupils within prism set stones.
It dies when pen strokes, key strokes and
mindful joys are only about
what can only be
felt within graffiti tagged labia walls;
The brick and mortar of belly button ring flesh,
licked down to her eternal grout skin-
overlay of calcium bone;
That carnivorous pre-natal channel.
He's a poetical virgin
afraid to be inspired by anything other than
female glands, her dyed hair. The
shaven flesh of any woman.
But after her sacred periodical
pomegranate plumb stains
deny him admittance for gratification,
he moves himself to seek another romance.
This one with words.
This affair wades deeper in the waters of
lithium paint thinner lacquer and
combustible, flammable thoughts.
Loosed now from the umbilical cord of her,
he's birthed into a smorgasbord
apocalypse of ideas and words
to search out his darkness, his light, to
throw away or keep away self. To expound on the
shame and hurt of his people he sees being as
birds bathing morose in the mud of politics and religion.
Words that make elementary ears wax eccentric.
To expose popularity polls as prepared
presidential hikes for approval.
Slicing minds that are
inbred with patriot
conservative parrot or
radical leftist rights;
Questioning the ingredients in
religious raisin bran bread. The holy rolled
psychological tablets of commandments
swallowed by sheep and ad-ministered
by wolves on pulpits of lies.
He has time now to contemplate the
spelling of or how to annunciate words like,
Believe & Perceive
I before E, except after C?
Bold type lie;
I before E, Except after C.
I before E is,
I am before Eden, so are you, accept and see.
A - C - C - E - P - T
Another Creation Consciously Evolving Past Trees
The first acronym of the species of man.
For as once he was blind
he now perceives that,
If Jesus' blood was spilled once
for the souls of all living,
I suppose a woman must bleed
once a month to rescue
an unborn soul from possibly not
having the chance to decide what to believe in.
Now he writes understanding why sex is so
over-rated. Not as an act to enjoy
but in comparison to what it can birth;
an Einstein, the next Luther King Jr the
next Lennon or Marley, Van Gogh,
Cesar E. Chavez or Juarez. The other half of these
a rib most believe; yet to him,
he perceives it's the feminine soul's destiny
to walk in the footsteps of Madam Currie or
Keller, Kahlo or Joplin, Earhart or Angelou.
So not all women are whores and
not all men in power are war mongering,
soul caging scoundrels.
If we are to turn back toward Eden,
the young poet asks;
What are we to believe in?
If not in Our highest of self,
should we perceive us blasphemous?
