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by Tommie Nelson |
IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOW MY ASCENSION
In the days that follow my ascension,
I become a
son that jettisons his father midair.
My body
knows not to carry things it came from,
It is how
a butterfly, partitioned from origin, ascends
onward to
pollinated ends. I supplicate the air, I ask it to
make an
idiosyncrasy of my diaphragm, transcribe me
into weightless
things, But the air, like god, is not eager to humor
mortals. Emancipation
is not difficult to conceive, to birth is the quagmire,
To remove
the first blood that wetted longing insides. It is at night
that day
comes for me, lending my bed its weight. I go to sleep
with reincarnated
pitfalls only to awaken a photoshop of father's tears.
I am not a jeweled
son, eviscerating me is not how you find onyx & amethyst.
All my body wears
is the color of amorphous carbon.I am how god packages
the dust to dust
expression. In the days that follow my ascension, my blood forgets its
weight & gravity
propels me to bliss. Midway through the heavens,my blood remembers
& I, like raindrops, die a violent death.
A SWANSONG OF SIGHTS
I awaken to a requiem in my mouth, a mournful procession
doused in wet quietude. It is here, on the aisle of my tongue,
that sacraments meet an end of teeth. It is the day I thrust my
hands into the mouth of god & from it I collect a slurry of half-
metabolized supplications—I find they reek of a stale abandonment,
like mother’s prayers—now ammonia-ing a path to my weary nostrils—
sepulchered in an enzymatic death. it is the day I lucifer away from
god’s silence. I gravity. I plummet. I xerophyte through earth’s swampy
scalp—cactusing defiant cants in cathedrals brimming with god’s living
water. the one extant at the infinities preceding us. I peered into prior
infinities and found that if a man did not feel thirst, he’d robbed god
of design & relinquished the purpose of throat—to never be quenched.
I learned to open my mouth with caution. I learned to fear edifices
where mute deities are worshipped. It is a fearful
thing to enter into places that cascade into weeping memories.
tears that empty into depths of red seas welling with the sour
retribution of truncated rameses, lulled to early defiance—the army
that charged into liquid, as if earth and water had acceded to a swap
of locality; calling out to longing feet and chariot, first born and beast
alike—it is such fear that morphs into petered sacraments, preceded
by images where god hitlers a million to command the reverence of ten.
tonight a winged demon will perch on my lip & only brooding
blasphemies will be heard throughout my thoughts. they’ll reek
of sinai’s feet mudded with blood, till all that remains are phantom
sculptures, molded into dead things. it is here that bodies lay cleaved
in two & guts hang out as if to show that the earth had eaten
flesh and drank blood long before the saints. I pray. I hope that
heaven accepts what parts of my ethereal self remains at dusk,
but I’m reminded that the closest I’ll get to amethyst clouds
are enchanted slides; portraits of love and lust, sky and dust,
painted as moribund eyes splash grim colors atop a receding
canvass—a swansong of sights-—as my soul disavows my body.
Image Credit: © FineArt America
This is a fine write. Absolutely laid out in terms clear with a blend of divinity and motarlity
ReplyDeleteOf death and dying. Of something metaphysical. Of questions cursed by what is sacred. Of thought labelled luciferous. Of boundaries uncharted in the light of norm. Seas whose waters hold a depth of pretent "where God Hitler's a million to command the reverence of ten". "A swansong of sights speaks ...Of things that still will remain unspoken.
ReplyDeleteSeas whose waters hold a depth of judasical truths termed heresy. Seas whose depths lie confined within a territory ruled by fear, " where god Hitler's a million to command the reverence of ten"
ReplyDelete"the army that charged into liquid, as if earth and water had acceded to a swap of locality; calling out to longing feet and chariot, first born and beast alike"
ReplyDeletethe way you put these things together in your own words is astonishing. Pondering out loud fluently the convoluted questions in the back of every overthinker's mind! Genius.
-Adam
I'm almost teary reading this. This is absolutely beautiful! Awesome writings!
ReplyDeleteThis is absolutely beautiful.
ReplyDeleteMaster of many trades .. really beautiful
ReplyDelete