Jefferson County

om guru deva.

On my summery skin, you
made a map of the midwest with
your fingertips, I wore missouri
peaking twain's hannibal creeping
up the hip. I part the mudded mississippi
with a glance. The whole
southeastern portion of Iowa you
lovingly molded across my ribs:
this was my country, my
humid language; the crickets
in the open, the prehistoric tension-wire
insect shedding it's skeleton up a tree after
thirteen years of being buried alive;
the yellow schoolhouse
on the hill,
where we learned to walk silent
and wow
above utopia, surrounded by the
dazzling creatures, hungering, heavenly
creatures, enlightenment sucked
through wet flesh on pavement,
high on incense air you could swim through;
the way we cultivated our consciousness
no matter how much we cringed at its
alienating consequence, we were all different,
whole other salvations that Rama bent
his bow in proof for, heaven on earth
was the door that opened, it's
where we did the christmas shopping.

Reviews

[DavidRyan]

I've had this strange fascination lately of people drawing things on one another's bodies with their fingertips. I've thrown it into two pieces, I think, but it's one of those things I want to mention or write about in everything I do. You did a great job with it. Completely creative. Allowing the reader to visualize this imaginary map being drawn out over a human body and the bumps and curves of the land. Well done. Your poems have a way of having the maturity of someone who has lived a full life and the innocence of someone who's excited to begin theirs. Well done.