icarus

the dull gleam of sunlight-- I know you feared it
but we were always falling
the glint on my fingernails, the whites of my eyes
the glowing feathers
fell more gracefully
but I went faster
to where the light shatters
and the waves toss the shards back, glinting

---

father, hold your wings tight
do not bring your hands,
together--mine are pointed
to the water, and steepled for mercy

step.

I will wage myself
across this world
and will step
sure and wary
into the space
between my eyes
and in the teeming
formless darkness
between our minds
--I will tend my garden
the scent confound your nostrils
and when you walk
sometimes the tingle
of distant grasses
under your chin

martyr

... what can I say?
what can
what can
can I-- WHAT
--so let nothing be said
let the words ebb
let the words fall
let them break into gibberish
into irrelevance
into nothingness and sentimentality
no more than a hum
no than the echo
of your pulse, so far under your skin
YES! bind them tight in the forms
and the tropes
and whip them when they struggle
oh shouldn't it be sweet incense?
--see me, Lord! my greatest humility
I praise you lips to the ground
I fill my mouth with dirt,
I swallow it! Lord, Lord!
No ghost, no mourner--I!
but I will choke and walk
dumbly smiling,
I will press hands flesh to flesh
--and aren't all men brothers!
surely, my greatest gift
this silent burial
this unmarked grave
find nothing, in the curve of my smile
to offend the eye! the bone
sheathed in this softness
easily torn! Hallelujah!
and let any reaching
for starlight or cloud-wisps
be brought to book
for the vileness
of hands un-held

... (iv)

because memory fades
I, who am one
who questions all voices
left voiceless
these words, as a sign
and a sigil, to speak
in the tongue
of my mind, these words
to pass by my hearing

kali (ii)

spread your arms
neither welcome
nor surrender
will still
the widening mouths
nor slake the teeth
will be grist

and then will be meal
not made anew

papaya

I would prefer if you didn't
come to my country to burn it.
Why argue over corn
when I grow papayas so well
so many, pebbly and green
that they press the skin of my eyes.