The Story of the Other Storm

I believed in the nude goddess of the dark
The darkness became my flesh
And like moss fern and lichen,
a world sprung up on the very flesh
Very flesh
Blood flowed through my rivers
Tribal drumbeats deafened the silence
of my heart
And like microcosmic reminders of infinity,
corpuscles danced madly to those beats
Beats Beast Keats Kissed
Hissed Pissed Missed
by a few miles, missed in the multifoliate
of the black rose – womb, womb
Future’s tomb
I entered through that door
like a husband and like a son
For I believed in the nude goddess…

Is it that very flesh and blood
that build up our days and nights?
That built up Leda, that built up the Swan?
Is it from this very darkness, this
wet darkness, that the future leaps
out towards the fountain of light?

History answers these question
every day
As the children of Adam and Eve
push on and on, in search of a
piece of sweet eternity…
The snake and the fruit and the tree
are but fairy tales
What matters is the throbbing warmth
And the rain that follows…

I thought of these as I lay half asleep
And oblivious of the bed of thorn…
Holy currents were flowing by
And a swan and a paper boat floated along
downstream, downstream…
A storm was raging outside
And the other storm – inside…