In the meantime, I spill.
Added 2017-06-23 05:32:35 +0000 UTCThe primal gaze
Amidst we creatures
Has been adulterated
By an obsession with objects
Excess and arbitrary
Abstraction of boundaries
Surveyors
Purveyors
Aggressors
Unto possessions,
Stuck fast, to plum lines
In cyclical narrative
"Private property."
With teeth exposed and gleaming
Wild pray for the undertaking
To be mounted and finished
Time and again.
Into ancient trials
Of extrapolated myth
Promulgations and peculiarities
Unable to peer beyond
The temple of realty
Overgrown with nervous
Language
Prospective
'Net worth'
The point
Whereupon one might enter
An engagement
Of divine proportions,
Let in on a secret of the universe;
Of those infinite intimacies
who spun time
Instead tears against
His effeminate reflection.
Sizing the other up
Like produce,
Like commodities,
Like worthy opponents
At battle
For the sun.
Galvanized
In hatred.
Whilst we well dressed,
All deteriorate
Buried beneath ornate
Trimmings of propriety.
Must we forfeit
To a law
Of meaningless verbiage
When I can taste every moment
Of your eternal history
Beading desirous
like droplets against
A taut membrane
Begging to be
Penetrated
?
I've learned to parse my words
To fade into utility
To wear a loud value
Too high to be bought
And too complicated
To be auctioned off
Instead I move
Fluid
Continuously.
Shaking off these icy dustings
Collecting gems
From the mouths
Of furious caverns
And dropping them
In densely minced phrases
Onto oceans of vagaries
Hoping for a reverberation
A faint echo
From within
That sweet liquid
Of abyss.
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Written during an impulsive contemplative experience at 4AM in Las Vegas, a few days ago.
Catching up with life. Will update soon.
Thanks for bearing with me.
More on Sheila Metzner up on the blog.
