Today's poem is by Callista Buchen
I give over, undoing like a knapsack,
snaking out my intestines
before the rest pours from its own gravity
splashes of bile, the soft thud
of the liver, a lung, wet and papery.
Here all valves open and close,
muscles contract. Arteries like twist ties.
Someone else would catalogue
the destruction. But you untie
your bundle too, flooding the heap
with fluid and organs, the vast ugly stew.
Our ribs and fingers, thighs and shoulders
tie themselves into stronger triangles, form
a great, dripping tower filled
with nothing but energy, the crash
of drop against drop , fleck on fleck:
See our buildingstrong, shiny,
almost on firebones become arches,
anchor stones in place. We stretch, pull.
Watch without thumping blood
or greedy lungs this labor of a universe.
We liquefy, fuse inside the tower
like epoxy: spinning,
spinning, hot on our intangible axis.
Touch thenour building moves, expands,
the mixture around an internal sun,
the mass and speed. Fully realized
in each turn , we call light into dark, and know
how whole can become further whole.
We are the flash of the dance's leg, the slice
of the painter's shadow, the sway of a black hole.
We are the thing that can't be taught.
Copyright © 2016 Callista Buchen All rights reserved
from The Bloody Planet
Black Lawrence Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Weekly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Copyright © 2002-2016 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002-2016 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved