3/Trans/formation

- If you follow my decrees and are careful to obey my commands, I will send you rain in its season -

Leviticus 26:3

Every night, he planted seeds in his chest.

Plow the earth and

Sow seed upon the delicate peaks of his nipples:

release a prayer and

dream that something would blossom upon that bitter land.

Bringing with crop,

a wetness that can curve the land into the rounded shape of plenty -

where hills spill from the handles of the earth

and pitched terraces unfurl,

blossoming with groves of

Oranges so sweet that they shatter like mud

and leap from heavy-laden branches only to slap the earth in darkness.

Every night, he would plant -

and every night, he would pray -

Until each night became a tune of

Sow, plow, pray.

Sow, plow, wait//

Watch the land by night

and shoo greedy fowl by day

foul that stole away any sweetness he found -

leaving only

piles of seed, stuck together with spit and prayer,

buried amongst tall grass:

so green that it turned blue.

How do dreamers race?

When noise hangs crooked in the air

and drearily walks into the ear:

fractured and untuned?

When this noise is so loose that it gives way to touch

and tickles across the body, the textures of fantasy.

Of sharp pricks, and dry skin:

imitations convincing enough to satisfy,

but unable to captivate.

How can dreamers be

in that world where visions blur to sound

and /growing up/ never ceases?

Where the slightest rub sings sweet verses

of limmitlessness and love?

Here, caught in a reference to a dream,

able to humm the tune

but unable to humm fast enough

to match the sweet timbre

of bells amongst the blue grass/

Each night, he would wake with ringing sounds in his ears.

His body marked with touches and heavy with the weight of dreams,

dreams so vivid that he stopped being able to recall them -

only waking, knowing that he dreamt them with her.

This sweet goddess of my mind who loves me so –

Master of the dream to which I am beholden.

For her I fasted and prayed and scraped my tongue until every syllable was golden, let blood, only ate grapefruit and celery, wrapped my hair in dusty silk, bleached, and waxed and tightened, drank a gallon a day knelt in front of the moon every night, named the stars all after her, painted my nails red, polished my skin until it rang like her voice, dropped a T from my name, then dropped my name entirely, telling everyone that I was her. I bent down to touch my toes, count to ten and hold my breath, I don't dance, I only sing for her, I only let her caress my hip, or taste my breast, or spit, I let her teach me what it means to be a woman, and walk the streets for 3 hours a day chanting her praises and selling chestnuts in her honor. 30 cents a piece

I say

God!

Oh God!

Rattle and rythe and hit the ground

pop/

ing

Mouth so full of praises

that my eyes roll -back-back-back- and my tongue

walks out: dried from

speaking those

Long, Long, never-ending-phrases tattooed up-and-down my spine:

Tattooed on scrolls, wadded

between my butt cheeks

and shoved in the pockets of my mouth.

I bend up-up-uuuupp

And doowwwwwnn

And uupppp

And doowwwwwnn

Waving my body in /her/ way-

Posing and-

Scratching-at-my-thighs

with chapped hands from flipping through those ancient-pages-of-demands

I shout:

Oh God!

Oh God!!

Oh God!!!