-The Experiment-
I am a murderer
Once, I tried this experiment:
There had been a birthday party down the street,
there had been balloons, I had taken one,
I set the balloon in the ground with a stake
so that it floated maybe 3, 4 feet off the ground,
I chose the location carefully, the stake
lay in the center of a large ant colony.
I went inside and came back with a half gallon of juice
which I poured gently over the balloon,
down the line, and onto the ground.
Then, I waited.
It did not take long.
Ants, in droves, climbed the sweet line,
covered the small balloon.
I almost thought my plan would be ruined
there were so many, but I held out,
and when I thought no more would fit,
I dashed out and cut the line.
Later, when I told my father,
he did not jump for joy as I had,
but he was not angry.
He warned me, told me that without their queen
those worker ants would likely die.
Then he said something curious:
that people behave in much the same way,
that what truly makes life good, once you find it,
is not away on a balloon.
I heard, but I was young.
Father, we may start in one nest
but we live long and hard,
if we are carried far from ourselves, we learn.
What I understand now is
we have all taken such a balloon ride,
and though we always walk towards home
the winds will carry us onward,
'til we find it.
It is then I will remember,
then I will understand.
I am a murderer
- There is a Hole Inside Me -
if you could cut a line through me
as a knife circumscribes an orange,
split me, to peer into my depths,
lay out my halves to pry off the
skin and hungrily devour,
you would see the hole.
sticky with the juice and so
lost,
there is no somatic syntax for this,
hands run down through veins,
organs, memories, fire,
there is so much fire
in my life,
in my body,
in my heart,
snaking around which, the thorns
and brambles of my defenses,
your fingers have always known
the way through
the taste still on your lips
lingering, peering,
this is where you shall find it.
for love begins in loneliness, if fills
the very same.
for love knows the loneliness it meets,
it follows a familiar shape.
Look deep enough through your own skin,
and you know.
as a knife circumscribes an orange,
split me, to peer into my depths,
lay out my halves to pry off the
skin and hungrily devour,
you would see the hole.
sticky with the juice and so
lost,
there is no somatic syntax for this,
hands run down through veins,
organs, memories, fire,
there is so much fire
in my life,
in my body,
in my heart,
snaking around which, the thorns
and brambles of my defenses,
your fingers have always known
the way through
the taste still on your lips
lingering, peering,
this is where you shall find it.
for love begins in loneliness, if fills
the very same.
for love knows the loneliness it meets,
it follows a familiar shape.
Look deep enough through your own skin,
and you know.
