I
was born in water, addicted to spirit, many sins upon our heels; and mother
knew, so subtle the orientation, seated at a jumbo table—making rain, moving
like turtles, asking snails about their patience; freedom of its market, pain
of its cloth, musical meaning as it becomes fury. I was born and given flame, a
lady understood, she took to a monopoly; stopping by the ocean, sensing
presence, a shift, a spark, a haunt, a fire—veins overloaded, skies filled with
children, another was the genocide; power in essence, spouts in souls, sprouts
in gardens—to again feel unmistaken. Such raw beginnings, to never again a
treasure, walking away might seem challenging. Each pile on high; each dream in
passion; flooded with curses, fraught by diamonds, the caves famous for bones,
sinews, and guidance. If it were easy, we’d be entwined, even more, if it were
easy, without scruples, many would perish. The chain of an ethic, the dynasty
of forbidden, while, in honesty, it never crossed minds: a fever of a letter, a
muse in spirit, an ache at the furnace. Shores aflame, sand atwitter, never to
reach the full destination; partial crowns, shadows in winds, swaying to
impossibility—the final chapter, the first starch, at dear worries concerning
the rising arts.
