The Gospel Flesh
Flesh is god in all its forms
gobs of fat, skin on calavera bone
pink & mauve, its dews
365 works
Flesh is god in all its forms
gobs of fat, skin on calavera bone
pink & mauve, its dews
The bad idea won't keep to itself.
It's knocking around the kitchen,
slamming cupboard doors,
Jill is happy to be eating Tahô for breakfast,
Tatay finishes his morning prayers
and asks if I’ve had coffee yet.
yellow-black caterpillar is overripe
banana. its little legs must feel like it
has walked lifetimes through wet,
Light a candle and curse the darkness
as I drip away like scented wax.
Counter-clockwise, you rinse our memory
They say the Garden was perfect, but she knew better.
Before the naming, she walked the paths as if it were a dream she had already outgrown.
Adam spoke of order, of roles laid stone by stone.
We can’t go on like this,
pretending it’s about grammar.
The weight of days belies us out here
Why was paper dried in squares?
90-degree angles arbitrarily over-determined the technology.
If paper had been dried in circles,
You only carried two books the Art of Birdwatching and the Bible.
You went on expeditions
in the hills of Transylvania-
The magic carpet comes undone,
Red strings unravel, fly everywhere,
High winds downtown.