AUM KID

I speak of the wood and water
that became a man,
of the sunken valleys
drummed by bright fists
into sails and gunshot posters,
pools of crimson epoxy
that the gardener's fingers
cannot rub off,
vines and hands and depths
murk of eyes that carry diamonds
to a crushing reservoir,
the veins of great empires
going slack and rubbery
for space and escape,

I speak of the man
upside down for his flying feet,
the clusters of rug fiber and grey walls
that are called squares,
the cacti in the mouth
of an infant who can speak,
ten thousand scorched moons
coming with hacked-out windows
in the same sky,

smeared by the cellophane of my breed
I speak of a chair in the wilderness,
a stunned wasp on fire in the palm of my hand,
of the black woman who was crucified
and brought the world to rest,
and a rim of gut-unraveling laughter,
the armrests of a censured noon
blinking daylight to blood,
the curve of my foot's arch a girl's torn body,
her heel on the fork of my brow
giving way to the stab's pluck
of parts for computer

two souls like newts on a dark bandanna
afloat with an ancient array
plank's worm grain
fish sap of new orders
oozing into place.