forever soil

not that i ever could understand it
but i found the place where the world ends,
where it begins again, where it becomes itself
in repetition, like some chromosome,
some clone of the unknown;
i held the crossroads in cupped hands
wet and aromatic with a strange mix
of decay and renewal,
just a handful of soil, ancestral dust
and flowing with fresh blood.
with just one handful of dirt
the world ended
and began anew.

the stains never leave, one can never wash
the evidence of time from the hands,
it only grows within you, should you
hold it.

time grows inward like roots
blood flows outward like perpetual birth,
and the soil builds, earth makes bones
from stones of solid blood, magnetic
and purposeful like being sunken.
the world ends and begins where i found it,
within my grasp, damp and rich,
basic and singular, a complex of the cosmos,
the cellular memory of millenia
unified in something as simple as soil,
soft and mother-like.

not that i really understand
but i found a fingerprint of forever,
the blood of something mysterious,
the memory of some distant fire.

music

there is nothing quite like this earth,
this music and symphony, polyphonic
cacophony of vegetal alphabets,
the harmonic phonics of trees that clap
and rain that shushes.
the wind is a conductor of circular rhythms,
one can hear the chorus of air
strumming notes with grassy strings,
water sings wave-like and awash with leaves
falling like scales from branched keys.
even the brave flowers of winter
punctuate this melody, the counterpoint
to a dance that is a step in incremental crescendo,
storms climactic and ecstatic, the acoustic tone
of an atmospheric audience, the audible
breath of this singing earth.

metaphors of metaforms

i must employ metaphor
to metaform my mind,
to go beyond the form of my life
i employ metaphor
of metaforms
forming my life,
this blood that moved, moves,
is moving my being,
this essence of me,
my birth-death reenactment,
this blood--holy--
wholly flowing my rivers of desire
firing my passion
and whipping my fury,
spilling blood in slow dense drops
fertilizing my soil
growing my seeds of renewal,
blood in exchange for blood:
i am scarred and torn
and blood is my medicine,
it is my sacrament of seasons.
i bleed inside
an ocean of salt and plasma,
i am a metaphor
for the sea.
i must hammer this blade
and sharpen its edge
to cut through my density
and offer my prayers
to my ancestors, to my destiny.
i am a sacrificial offering
to the sea
to the sun,
i am the blood of the present
cast by past sculptors:
ancestral hands that shaped this clay.
i must meta-form beyond my form,
cleanse this river
of stagnant salt,
i must employ metaphor
to go beyond myself
to plunge into the depths
of the sea,
bloody with rolling passionate waves-
intensity,
density that floats my bones.
i am sinking into form
beyond mineral
beyond bone
beyond flesh
i am floating in a sea of seasons
shifting into reasons rhyming
blood-moon timing.
i see the sea
reflected in the moon
and my blood is a tide
influenced by the confluence
of salt and water
bleeding life
breathing life
feeding life
as blood hangs in perpetual
thick drops
stopping only when it is time
to return this blood
to the origin story of the sea