VII.i. Florence (An Experiment in Parataxis)

VII.
i/iv

and though no delight is she to behold -
cold metal shackles shift below
          black velvet wrapping;
dynamos of African ivory and regal gold -
bright rings encircl'ng oblivion -
deep holes symmetric'ly punch'd on a slanted sheet -
tar trickl'ng behind a gaze beautiful enough to
melt my prickled lashes like chick'n spines in broth -
suh - suh - SUH - SUH - shh-ee creeps,
crippledly -
higgledy - piggledy
earthly -
unknowingly - towards that dry knoll
(with a point of a rustic thumb and forefinger; artlessly slim hands - hers, handguns) when the bell tolls and pilgrimage will cease and start and she will begin again -
a little dumber and half as dark.
---
and me?
emasculated - born still - castrated - circulation constipated by choked-up mule blood -
          I need only learn her silent dogma -
ancient Gamachean wisdom -
that black mama's creed -
theologian medicine to piss and bleed that colourless poison out -
osmosis on it's head through language and
paraphrased for ease.


D.B.B