Sunday, April 17, 2011

NaPoWriMo 17: Into the Cave

Following our selves into the cave,
we separated so we wouldn't get out
unless friends with our spirits
kissed them in public, swore an oath
in front of a philosopher, showed them
the book we'd try to write and fail.
The paintings on the wall moved fast,
told us our secrets in basketball
scores and videos of a man floating
away in a tsunami. They prepared
to show us as the center of a family
they called the human race, our genes
not far from Mongolian hunters,
the tribesmen of Tanzania. We bought
buckets of acid, melted the colors,
unable to keep attached to the chemicals,
their lights no longer what we wanted.
An entire bookshelf whines its words
at us, spelling out nouns and verbs
we used without pressing them in ink.
We took them down, felt ourselves
regenerate, their hands and limbs
down their spines. It was our belief
in language that flowed. It almost
felt like drowning in the sun.

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