vestigial virgin

[[ Wordplay on Vestal and vestigial, to begin with, and building on that to make this a woman literally in touch with her vestigial characteristics. ]]

The vestigial virgin

in morning retraces

the route she retraces

each morning she rises.

She touches 

the tip of her tongue 

to her four wisdom teeth.

She touches 

her tailbone and where 

her appendix might be.

She feels the hair rise on her skin 

and continues the tour

and comes away pure.

She chases 

a tingle that leaves her 

completely in tears.

She rubs her 

third eyelids and curls and 

wriggles her ears.

She feels the hair rise on her skin 

and continues the tour

and comes away pure.

Bluebird Matchbox

[[ A transformation of an actual childhood visit to relatives in Dundee and Perth. The long wait for adults to finish visiting grows to an evolutionary scale. The Bluebird Matchbox (actually a Corgi, says the internet) was produced to keep me or my brother or both of us busy while adults talked for the last time. ]]

In childhood I am guided in

to meet the ancient Britons known

to other ancient Britons then

as Helen, Bunty, Joe. All gone.

They are all shades of vein and chalk

and pebbledash and cardigan

and close-cut grass and gravel walk

and kindly smiles all wired in.

I play while they discover fire 

and pour a drink to warm their skins,

and ages pass while they admire  

how fingers grow where once were fins.

spiral staircase

[[ just another song about love and evolution ]]

how much I love you

first to last

written in my bones

woven in my skin

how much I love you

first to last

first there was flesh

then the flesh became word

and wrote itself

stepping forever

a step at a time

testing each step

up the spiral staircase

once we were fish

you feel it in your womb

swim for its life

stepping forever

a step at a time

testing each step

up the spiral staircase

first there was flesh

then the flash of the fish

leapt on the shore

stepping forever

a step at a time

testing each step

up the spiral staircase

how much I love you

first to last

written in my bones

woven in my skin

how much I love you

first to last

I give you my word

the lifting night

The lifting night is leaving -

Birds begin.

Before the sun is up,

birds begin the day.

Before the moon is down,

birds begin the day.

= = = = =

This is where we all are

in this air between

our sun and moon and earth.

Inhaling and exhaling,

all exchanging

breath for breath for breath.

= = = = =

From tree to tree

a gathering of bird 

begins to dawn:

how once we preyed

and how we once

were preyed upon.

a history of me

[[ It's somebody who paints graffiti in the subway. But it's also those cave artists from the previous entry. ]]

The smell
of electricity
and aerosol.

I have known
this other sense
since I was small.

I touch the
tip of every
digit to the wall

I press a
fingerprint to
seal it all

and leave
(and leave)

a history of me,
complete and illustrated
mystery to me.

With a full and
finished wall,
each cell in me
(the imprint and
insignia of me)
tells in me.

I feel a fall into
the only well.

A lighted torch

[[ Have you seen the hand stencils in the caves? ]]

A lighted torch,

then hands reach
through the dark

(reach through the dark)

The artist's hands

a conjurer's hands

reach out to you

(reach out to you)

from when they were

(from when they were)

to when we are

(to when we are)

from what we were

(from what we were)

to what they have

(to what they have)

what we have become

out of my tree

eve-ry...

sound 

I make 

is shaped 

by this 

simian 

mouth

these lipssss 

and tongue

these bi-

ting teeth

this ach-

ing throat

these luuuuuuuuuungs

ev-er-y 

thought I have 

swings from the 

trees  [[ three waltzing beats? ]] 

swing with me

swing with me

swing with me

please

out of my tree...

I am

out of my tree...

for you