Sunday, May 19, 2013

Your Lazarus

(M— is working feverishly to finish her Honors Art project on time. Her focus was the body and scissors. This piece is not yet complete. In fact, she's made considerable progress on it since this photo was taken, but it got me to toying with words, even though I'm not sure I've read five poems since the last piece I tinkered with. Does it matter tonight?)

the words dwell within
the ribcage. they are rooted

in the bloom and nudge
of a timpanic garden. they hide

within an earthen diaphragm,
in the likeness and image of "".

the words whisper within
your honeyed bones, they see

your fingers spindle sacrifices,
the pantomime of offerings both

living and burnt, the telling of stories
both shadow and reason, the finding

of suspension, strung up
along the vertebra,

like fishes and lamb. the words know
your flesh is a disappearing

flesh that means to be and is. and then
is not. it is forever finding itself bound

in linen, stinking for days, but somehow rises
lifting like paint in return to canvas:

with color that remove the cloth and gives
the words room to breathe.

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