\u201cThe woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate it.\u201d<\/p>\n
But what fruit it was!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I give woman
\nfull credit for all the pleasures
\nof my life.<\/p>\n
A special woman, any woman, all the women
\nall were water running down my mount
\nshaping and forming the bedrock of my being
\ncutting sharp deep rills that opened gaping chasms
\nchurning into canyons wherein
\nbeside the raging torrents were fertile fields
\nstrew with cottonwoods and rows of maize
\nand sweet pink peas climbing trellises
\nabloom with confederate jasmine.<\/p>\n
Before poems became impromptu lyrics
\nI wrote I was rock
\nan inchoate metamorphic crust
\nglittering quartz crystal yet unpolished
\nstriated banded gneiss
\nformed by pressure and heat
\nworn by water and wind
\nto display an imperfect
\nglossy polished facet.<\/p>\n
I do not believe my equivocation
\nI was and remain primordial slime
\nOntogenesis delayed, deferred
\nnow decrepit.<\/p>\n
That puddle that I was
\nthat god with a small \u201cg\u201d
\nZoroaster come to be called Zarathustra
\ncome to be called a Christ
\ncome to be called sweet names in the night
\nthat was I.<\/p>\n
The slick polished facet was not burnished stone
\nbut a skim of water on coarse rock reflecting
\nthe brightening light of awakening female faces.<\/p>\n
Countless faces moved by compliment
\nand tender care to semi-adulation
\nhosannas to the host
\nenraptured wisdom danced out with lithe limb
\na thought of love written in a prophet\u2019s cuneiform
\nread by willing eyes as a line in our wedding vow
\nall meaningless chatter to the slime beneath
\nthe shining reflection of woman\u2019s waking light.<\/p>\n
gods, like gneiss, have no ears
\npores open like mouths and drink in
\nthe tide of passion\u2019s words
\nswallowing the waxing flow
\ntasting the sanguine regeneration
\nand staining bright ruddy lips
\nwith life\u2019s crimson color<\/p>\n
Who is the god here?
\nwho entraps with limbic wraps
\nwho offers plump fruit to share
\nperfumed vines and jeweled limbs
\nto snare the imagined divine?<\/p>\n
Red is the womb\u2019s color
\nRed like flowing magma
\nRed like the jack of hearts
\nRed like half the colors
\nof a roulette wheel
\nRed like rose petals
\nRed like rubies
\nRed like my lips on yours
\nRed like Boleyn\u2019s hair
\nRed like Lenin\u2019s wife
\nRed like an Abattoirs\u2019 floor.<\/p>\n
Rocks need no anchors
\ngames of chance no winning odds
\npaper and scissors have no pay
\nin the pointless pregnant play.<\/p>\n
Altars always bear a god\u2019s cross
\nYou have won, I have lost
\nI am drained of color
\nwashed out without your dawning light
\nrouge fades to pink, then to ruddy white
\ngossamer folds of flesh turn to alabaster stone
\nAll your laughter left is lilting echoes
\ncareening off bleached bone.<\/p>\n
The god becomes his temple
\nhis women to innocence restored.<\/p>\n
None of you ever left me
\nStill, all of you are gone
\nYou could have owned Olympus
\nyou chose the common one.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cThe woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate it.\u201d But what fruit it was! I give woman full credit for all the pleasures of my life. A special … Continue reading