Raven and the Origin of Origins
Before the world began,
in a time before beginnings,
before before could be,
there was an idea,
and the idea was darkness,
and the darkness was empty.
And because the darkness was an idea,
the idea necessitated reflection
and the reflection was a blackbird
whose black feathers shone.
And the shining was a glimmer
and a glimmer is light and light reflected light
bouncing feather to feather
creating refraction,
and thus there were many.
The many blackbirds flew in a grand circle,
creating a center,
moving ever faster
creating a somewhere from nowhere
containing an empty center.
The center spun,
weaving form
from emptiness
a cavern
a mouth
a scream
a song
a song
a queen...
The nighttime has secrets to tell,
carried on the screams of a blackbird,
into my dreams.
a flurry of feathers,
the birds are a pack of banshees,
blood-drenched talons,
the sound of plucking,
eyes mistaken for seeds,
seeds carrying futures,
latent or bursting,
seeds dreaming themselves split open,
cracked, thrashing in wailing stomach storms.
the sound of banshees, piercing decibel,
ears crack, split open,
blood runs in rivers where blackbirds and children drink
to appease unquenchable thirst.
I am a blackbird.
i am a seed.
i am dreaming myself split open.
i am an explosion. a battering storm. an ocean on the rocks of image and desire.
desire for dispersion.
No.
for expansion that can contain it all.
and in the effort to contain, “i” am destroyed. lost.
i become a fawn in search of food. a wayward in search of bread. the milkmaid. the boatman. a bitch in heat. woman mantis wants sex and prey. tigress protects her kin. a hound hides from the lightning flashes. the horned beasts consuming, consuming. the raging fire consuming, consuming. the red rhythm of bodies rubbing sparks dancing. man shoots seed at static television drone. an empty stine, fills with salted tears.
in the forest, under a stone, far off the trail, the secrets live without light. They crawl, timid, clawed, and close to the earth. They want to disappear.
i strip naked and tattoo the world upon my skin with a sewing needle. creating a map where there was none. i do it rapidly. in out. in out. bunny sex creation, creation, i think, is always sex. the map is a lie. my body the truth. terra incognito. terra infinito. quickly, the worlds are sewn into being. a couple kissing in a crowded bar in the crook of my elbow. a beggar on my thigh. Kali. Mary. in out. in out. A girl child releases a final howl on my shoulder blade, than turns vulture and rips apart the rotting carcass of my side. the moon is maiden, mother and crone, the lusty sun, a mute dumb Buddha, a haggard grandfather.
i layer layer over layer until i am black.
i am a blackbird. unable to find myself under all the stories.
i scream.
the flurry of feathers.
the sound of passionate abandon,
disappearing into the still confidence
of the silent nighttime sky.
