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Click herebegin with
shapes: the cup, the pillar, the open hand
and henna-stained
my painted body, spirals and arrows
my mouth
a brush stroke on smooth skin
the parchment sheets on which
our limbs become the glyphs
for life, for bird
on which we shape each ideogram
: lake, thunder, joy
we make the runes
we draw symbols of each other
with our hands and tongues
I curl
myself into your body
You trace
an alphabet on my lips
and from root to outstretched fingers
we are a bindrune
a spell made of our woven bones
written on mirrors, painted with our breath
spoken, it is
beyond translation
each word
requires three mouths to pronounce
sung, it is
the hollow flute,
the hum of indigo, the chant of serpents
in the spine
to newbs who need help. there must be something better, remember Uncle Pervey, anyone?
Truely remarkable. One of the best poems I remeber on the limits of the language and at the same time a wonderful poem which points out to the myriad of the other forms of expression and one on one communication, begging to be used especially when eros is involved.
Your evolved spirituality really comes across here--wonderful diction and construction. Recommended in today's new poems reviews in the poetry feedback and discussion forum.