Monday, July 7, 2008

Adopted Child

In the search to live your seamlessness --
and to expand those realms
which freely let in every
avatar who wants a piece
of you -- you fall into a trance
and chant whatever cellularly seems
to need to breed and bleed out
of your densely forested defenses:
as if the blood and spit

and seasoning of all your furtive animals
and birds and insects might, in concert,
strain and trickle to a condensation --
some intoxicating liquor --
reparation, compensation
for your blunter fear -- a spice and drug
to lure them near -- those sources
of your life and art: those parents
of whom you are inextricably a part:

those actual progenitors --
your mother, Pele, and your father, Thor --
your brother, Dionysus --
and the glory of the score of intermediaries
whom you've yet to let through your
too-guarded door:
you vow to plow through terror --
learn from them the yearned-for grand facility
of wedding power to fragility.


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