Day 26 of #napowrimo and I'm finding that my mind is going to some strange places...maybe I'm going stir-crazy....
Almanac
Flora is the closest thing to fluorescent flowers
the bread bloated, needing to be kneaded
with wheat flour. The tassels swaying in the wind,
the fauna moving in the wind. The chickadee
with the cotton tuft in its mouth like a moth
batting its wings in terror, knowing its death.
Even the beautiful birds are carnivorous
And digest the proteins of the ant and worm.
As do I, the meat of my sustenance, I gather
Around me; I will make my nest out of cotton
Batting its wings in terror. Stuff it with
Sorrow and sunshine, sew it up with my aching
Bones, the herring bone stitch made from
the ivory whites of my knuckles and knees.
The weather outside contains itself with
Its overcast shadow, an architecture
Of rain and clouds and I have always found
That mammals are the animals of milk,
Reptiles the monsters of milk, eggs
Hardened milk, fragile and soft at first,
Then they harden like the base of the skull.
I ripen into my dreams, graffiti my body
With love and conspiracy theories. I wear
My hometown like a dress made of street names,
The numbers on the sides of my houses.
And those become my numbers, too,
My securities and identities to dole out
What I believe is true of myself, the numbers
Are proof of my memories that I can look
Out any window and see myself reflected back
Like a myth written in an old book, yellowed
With sunlight and time.
I
am the night story
No longer read aloud, but read silently
Like a letter to myself that I rewrite onto
A postcard to someone I do not know;
Someone who walks the boundaries and borders,
Margins and alleyways of my animal instincts,
Maybe the streetlight will unshadow
That person and of course that person will always be
myself.
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