Studied steel needles under neon.
Shaved my head
and the burly guy began to make
tiny holes into which he injected
three and a half gallons of windshield washer fluid
so I could see what was already tattooed there.
Look! The internet directory
lawn clippings from Walt Whitman
the TV GUIDE
the golden rule
ma's one hundred thirteen
favorite rules of thumb
the law of the jungle
the Khama Sutra
the Windows help index!
(Boy have I got a headache.)
I expected roses
but here I am in a downpour
waving a torn baggie
which only moments ago
encircled a half-pint of blue fluid and a goldfish.
Suddenly my blond mopís matted, slippery
the world, a fish-eye-hubcap reflection.
And I am only beginning to breath/see/hear.
When I complained about the mess
the burly guy
pointed to a disclaimer on the wall
noting that birth may involve screaming
and that the midwife may NOT cut the curls of self-reflexive cord
which loop back for generations
through thickets of abandoned fishbowls.
This act you must own for yourself.
For this act, you own your self
For stealing fire you get to lay on the mountain
and offer up your liver daily at dawn
Each night in fecund darkness
you grow another.
- Mar (Mistryel Walker
pg 12 & 13 Inverse Origami, the art of unfolding 1998, Out-of-the-Mist Press
this poem was also published in the original print version of the CT Poet Newsletter
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