Meatus-
It is the beginning
Where arbitrarily
The timer is set
It is the beginning
Where the props begin to focus
And we realize slowly
That what we have
Is all we have
And it is the rocks around
Our neck
That we kiss
And which finally
Become our cairn.
It is the beginning
Where we weigh-in
Like a boxer
And are flashed
Around a ring
While demons in the gallery
Slur things at us
And from their tone of voice
We guess what they say.
There was an opening
"good luck" the womb cried
To us.
To us,
A wet bundle wrinkled
At birth as at death
Unable to dance
Exception a forgotten
Dialect of sanscrit.
The opening--
Black water signing from the future,
The opening--
Artist of destruction.
Genesis becomes an expanding of thighbones
And from then on it's insomnia.
I understand openings and beginnings
I understand
That I am sitting at
A kitchen table
It is a kitchen table
It is a kitchen table
It is a kitchen table
It is a kitchen table
It's a kitchen table!
It's a kitchen table!!
It is a kitchen table
It is a kitchen table
I know it so very well
I know my sitting here
I know my hand wrapped
Around this beer bottle
At the moment
This is what I know
This is the substance of my life
And it's a bloody rotten deal
To take away my hands
And my eyes
And give me dust!
The sun and the moon
Will subtract before my eyes
We have all
Read that before
Only differently
We have tackled the
Arbitrary beginning
And have penetrated every oriface
In the human body
And every oriface
In the planet earth
Looking for a way back
So the damned ticking
Of the timer will cease haunting our ears.
Our small spermy selves
Have been squirted out
The meatus: the bus is full.
The trip has begun--
Sometimes we call it a journey.
There is a white hot throat
Under our red dripping bodies
Ready to catch us
When the jaunt is up.
Life sucks us out of gonads
Life sucks our minds out of skulls
Mind fled
You don't fix a cranium
As you fix a faulty electric switch.
The warm fluid
That guides our ways
That makes me know
And love
This kitchen table
The kool-aid stain, purple
The knife slash, diagonal
The oatmeal flake, stranded.
I squander time.
I am a non-stop drunk
In a non-stop maze.
Why won't the whole
World rot
When I do!?
-Doug blazek
It is the beginning
Where arbitrarily
The timer is set
It is the beginning
Where the props begin to focus
And we realize slowly
That what we have
Is all we have
And it is the rocks around
Our neck
That we kiss
And which finally
Become our cairn.
It is the beginning
Where we weigh-in
Like a boxer
And are flashed
Around a ring
While demons in the gallery
Slur things at us
And from their tone of voice
We guess what they say.
There was an opening
"good luck" the womb cried
To us.
To us,
A wet bundle wrinkled
At birth as at death
Unable to dance
Exception a forgotten
Dialect of sanscrit.
The opening--
Black water signing from the future,
The opening--
Artist of destruction.
Genesis becomes an expanding of thighbones
And from then on it's insomnia.
I understand openings and beginnings
I understand
That I am sitting at
A kitchen table
It is a kitchen table
It is a kitchen table
It is a kitchen table
It is a kitchen table
It's a kitchen table!
It's a kitchen table!!
It is a kitchen table
It is a kitchen table
I know it so very well
I know my sitting here
I know my hand wrapped
Around this beer bottle
At the moment
This is what I know
This is the substance of my life
And it's a bloody rotten deal
To take away my hands
And my eyes
And give me dust!
The sun and the moon
Will subtract before my eyes
We have all
Read that before
Only differently
We have tackled the
Arbitrary beginning
And have penetrated every oriface
In the human body
And every oriface
In the planet earth
Looking for a way back
So the damned ticking
Of the timer will cease haunting our ears.
Our small spermy selves
Have been squirted out
The meatus: the bus is full.
The trip has begun--
Sometimes we call it a journey.
There is a white hot throat
Under our red dripping bodies
Ready to catch us
When the jaunt is up.
Life sucks us out of gonads
Life sucks our minds out of skulls
Mind fled
You don't fix a cranium
As you fix a faulty electric switch.
The warm fluid
That guides our ways
That makes me know
And love
This kitchen table
The kool-aid stain, purple
The knife slash, diagonal
The oatmeal flake, stranded.
I squander time.
I am a non-stop drunk
In a non-stop maze.
Why won't the whole
World rot
When I do!?
-Doug blazek
***Thank you Ms. Torrey Lynch for sharing this incredible poem. I haven't read anything that struck me like this in a while.
