barry
user 3279183
Beverly, MA
Post #: 42
began as as discussion with someone about how religion is not polite topic, religion is a response to what is most messy about us.

i am very dissatisfied with the begining. i think i must have the guts to describe it from first hand experience. work in progress.



We Are Not Heavenly Beings

You pluck a cell of you and filled it with yolk.
mixing your father and mother into it.

then life's hunger to move beyond you
entices you to strip bare in front of an alien human a stranger
open your mouth to him
suck on his spit
suck on his tongue inside your mouth
suck on his cock inside your pussy.
the things we piss with
swallow his spit
drive him bodily crazy enough
so his loins cough up living cells of himself
into you
and your vagina sucks them up and swallows them!

swimming vermin of himself
mixed memories of HIS father and mother in YOUR private bedroom
private act!


to suck his living vermin deeper within you,
life hammered orgasms into you
no chance to think twice about this deadly act now
inviting danger into your innards
you do NOT own your own body, life does..
you're only one stopping point on a journey billions of years old
it's marching through you right now
boots pounding with every beat of its heart

You call them to swim deeper
they race with each other
fight with each other
they swim long in your sea like Beowulf and Brecca
till they land on the yolky shore of your eggself exhausted
She chooses only one, and she EATS him
Now, she, a parasite in your belly, ready to kill
has a parasite in her, ready to kill
or create
the days will tell.

And when his other swimming selves die, you expell them!

and what IS that parasite in your belly?
the lucky one.
is it a person?
is she a person?
she's a mushroom!
swells to some jelly fish thing
folds up into a worm

and there,
with that ad hoc assembly of memories
of your mother
and his father
and his mother
and your father...

the two of you had sloppily picked parts from each
like some kind of Dr. Frankenstien..

and you sewed them into her, crazy quilt

she almost screws up!
she almost folds up into a cretin and dies!
like her brother did (and you expelled him)
and you didn't even know..

such are new beginnings

but she ripples into a fish finally
swimming in your watery womb
behind your belly button memory of your mother.

not really a fish,
she's got gills, but they don't work!
she can't breath in there!
there's no krill in your wombsea for her to eat!

do something!

weave yourself deep to her
bleed into her and let her bleed into you.
she almost killed ya, didn't she?

are you guys one or two?


Is she human YET?

no, now she's a newt.
now, a mouse!
now some kind of scratching puppy thing with a big head...


Now it's time to let her out.
Time to tear that weaving apart.
time to tear half yourself from yourself again,
let her be her

now it's time to open yourself up
let her crawl through your vagina
dragging your shared blood out with her

the two of you wrestle
she's tied to you
blood to you

you've got to turn yourself inside out!
heave!
wrestle all night
maybe you hate her for a moment
dump out your wombwaters
finally tear that bloodweaving placenta from you
push her into the world all bloody and slimy
and she almost kills you again!


well? cut the cord!
she'll bleed to death
her muscles think fast
close like fists 'round those severed arteries for ever
separating your bloodtides

light!
Cold!
she coughs the warm womb water from her lungs
to breath in the fiery oxygen
yells her lungs into breath.

wakes up to her own long frightening journey.


but you're still tied
let her suck milk from your own fat.
let her swim, a fish again, on your warm belly

you try to stay together, you two
new fish swimming on your breasty sea
but dammit she keeps growing.

first she's a fish again
then a larva with giant oggling laughing head,
her eyes focus,
her hands grasp for the world
she learns to eat
and your seeping springs of milk run dry.

her fingers become intelligent.
she gets up on her feet and walks away
imagines herself into a separate being

and begins to fear the night.
Chris
user 3533065
Brooklyn, NY
Post #: 64
Here is another example of the convergence of poetry and biology:

On Discovering a Butterfly
By Vladimir Nabokov

I found it and I named it, being versed
in taxonomic Latin; thus became
godfather to an insect and its first
describer—and I want no other fame.

Wide open on its pin (though fast asleep),
and safe from creeping relatives and rust,
in the secluded stronghold where we keep
type specimens it will transcend its dust.

Dark pictures, thrones, the stones that pilgrims kiss,
poems that take a thousand years to die
but ape the immortality of this
red label on a little butterfly.
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