Assorted Poetry by The Dead Tongues
theres space before I
some silent dream I
noon dark sleep I
where time all happened, I
ask “what is released in ones
death but the breath of life?”
been there before I
oh bright flame I
new moon wave I
where love all happened, I
say “if we are but seed, curled
in soil, reaching toward light,
then fate is not our own but only
for a moments passing. so soon
to be air filling the breath
* * * * *
She looked for a good vein.
Eyes scanning my pale skin,
surveying the green-blue meridians and
ley lines of the circulitory system.
She found no blood,
something about dry viens.
I felt the needle roll around
inside my body.
I counted ceiling tiles.
Strangers will pour my blood into small containers
They will asses with the mind of a scientist
some piece of my heart.
Perhaps conception is the birth of objetification.
Can you tell me i am nothing?
Touch me like the night sky
so we can feel life as a fall,
long enough to release,
long enough to trancend
the etheric distance
between heart and mind.
* * * * *
Letters of Returning
1: Song called “Void”
upon returning the sky is clear. theres a half moon hung low and far. it sits like a watermark or faded tattoo. its dim on the eyes. it feels like an omen walking by. something familiar yet not understood. something thats gone before conception. like wind or forgotten dreams. i once dreamt of a place so far away all there was was sky and mountain top. the wind felt like silk and the river lay like scripture. a leather woman pulled signs outa tea leaves and sang a song called “void.” maybe every moment is a transmission from somewhere old and new. perhaps its all just a sunset. a meeting point of that from far and near, bound in a present light that blows through us like cedar smoke and ancestral voices. that ripple downstream smoothing stone. muddy shul. its all tributary. the slow echo of becoming. the transience of being. the present that is past. the feeling that the end has already come and gone with silence in their song.
2 : Eden
i am a dreamer who opened my eyes. ive felt the gravity swell from the bone of my body. drawing the pendulum from skin to skin, that magnetic boundary balancing the spirit and sound with in. i have followed the voice of a peripheral being, grasping at the heels of a premonition. long past the wells and caverns of body where love songs call and spring forth reaching for shape. ringing out of these darkened places to the Eden of Self. that gateway of unbounded beginning. a little light in a house of mirrors bent by time and perpetual motion. told as song and fable till all but a grey cloud of faded memory remains morphing above us as a creature out of context, an element in transition. pray for rain, dance for deliverance. sway with the tropic of the sun and heart beat of the ocean, like we know something true, like we’ve been here before. some kind of returning.
3 : Serpent
all roads end at the limits of our curiosity
say.…i can swim faster with a buck knife in my teeth
and runa breeze up the beech tree…i cuta trail to the
honey suckle grove, you can see the whole ridge
from up there…i fell asleep in some tall grass and green clovers… i dreamt of heat lightning and cold rain… …minnows and saw dust….cloudy water on a bed of broken glass and rainbow trout…i woke up with a snake at my feet looking for new skin
* * * * *
To me i have gills
and morphing genitals that
bloom and disapear as if
they had been named to be beatiful I am as you have witnesed although
I do not know that person as anything other then a memory of a place,
a feeling of cold water, or humid air
while standing in an airport lobby,
or the sound of my grandmother’s voice