My
future androgyny, as an observant but etheric midwife, shows concern. My
yearning forms in a birth canal. My future alphabet is crowning towards imprint
into neuro-stone. This molasses, once a dream, now a dark closet, a consort of
unknowable simplicity through deep sexual touch, becomes, even in the womb, as
an unveiling, a fumbling towards speech by astutely listening. Eventually I
find a bunk outside the womb. The mother tells me stories, where every breath
is mine. The father teaches me moods, where every stance is mine. There is a
bankroll of meanings as hand-me-downs into a life of immediate tending and
retention. With one deep wet slap of unfamiliarity that spark-pried open my
eyes, the pound of the drum is formally upon my senses. I wish for a sword to
cut off that hand that yet guided me past my shock of existence. I still wish
for a flame to burn the veils of the gender baises from both of you, identifying
for me more directly these as sources of my pain. I wish for the inner gaze to
rise from each of you, from the sacred smoke of each of your presence, leaving
for my a trail of parential intended meanings to follow. I wish for the space
to freefall into the grace of myself as inspiration, to not confront fear's
original horns. I sense a greased pole that skewers up my spine towards blind
primal driven ascension. But I don’t want to name either of you as separate. I
am secretly inhaling both of you back into this shocking black pitch, gulping
down forbidden images from each of you as your historical humanity, now vividly
set ablaze somewhere within me. I too, am burning up inside, engulfing your
smoking darkness. I am not saving either of you. I am not the ballast for
either of you in your personal lessons. Introduce me to my future, untie the
linearity of our story. Unlock our octave laden hearts. Fire me up, as the clay
of our beings continues to exist. Let us be where we are one in spirit and listeners.
Leave for me no memory of what love is, no concept that love is a sharing, no
distance to give love as metaphor, only the endearing emptiness of our
androgynous spirits, unlocked in this confounding invisible embrace.
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