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| New Flesh (Fragment Song #1) |
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Radames Ortiz |
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Years before I etched the first sound into a concrete slab before I spoke shadows into deep residue of bone before I gave birth in the inside of a new ceramic cup before the ragtime percussion of my ribcage before the rainy season, the bongo clubs, the hands like faces of fire, the rocker of steel and the anvils at midnight before the shattering of porcelain eyes before the side face of a black rooster or the white flair of embalmed coyotes before the throat stripped of its whirlwind before the lungs screaming yazoo the temple, the mad-lipped sphincters hooting at the moon, before the jackhammer crushing the skull before the back-alley tenor songs, the whisky wild bop of the streets, the blue notes coiling the neck before the hands of sea mist and desert smoke before the unbroken line of language, fury and skin before the wings on my back turn to stone, chippers of asphalt and block before the granite dreams of Orpheus weave shadows over the window and curse the blue night open before the arrows hissing under the breaking darkness before the chanting vibratos of upstream steamboats or the snakerivers catching a tune before the shards of light, heat, river, crystal and daybreak before the skin, luminous and breaking, expansive and familiar becomes new flesh for eyes requiring blindness before my tears carve the face like the last touches of a master sculptor before the well-earned trouble and distaste, the jewel-boxed lives, costumes of faith, denial and holiness before the prying of the septum the explosion of cartilage, the de-localization of bones, the air between the hands, the blue of the eyes before all of this (the mounting, the sacrifice and bleeding) I graze the earth between sun and moon, between now and then and like the dead haunting a grave, I admit to no one "It's over now." Poem copyright © Radames Ortiz 2002. All rights reserved. |