SOC Writing _ 16.2.21

 Carried across the sky

Oh behave little boy. You give your toy – not get - you sit quietly while mommy has tea with her friends – you are not to get out – its very dangerous out here - very dangerous, much too dangerous for a little boy. Hem me in – like sew me into a margin – double stich – then over-locked – this locked piece of life – begins a new strife inside me – my knife wanting to cut – to cut me clear of the hemming, to be made free. Little boy can’t handle the big, wide world – can’t handle Our World – of wolves and bears and the night – was told it was all so innocuous – responsible for nothing – the nature not nurturing – but to be controlled for man they said – to subdue and dominate – make his domain. So the boy learnt to hate nature – always keep it at bay – though its friendliness often threatened – remember that walk home in the sweet pouring rain – so wet – so pleasurable – held by the driving, soaking pelt – so much you were comforted by it – driving along with it as the best company in the world. You lost your feeling body somewhere way back then – and developed a God trauma for pleasure in all the unspeakable parts – condemned yourself to death in His sight – an honourable offering for having spilled seed. This bleed made me intolerable – unable to be grateful for the nature in me I hid behind that fateful tree - listening for the serpents words - unclean, unclean – sounding out a recording deep in my clockwork – and carrying the wound like a mother fucker – has been too long, tide has been too strong – the charismatic figures have belittled my juju – have wanted only the God fire in me – set me upon a table of purity when I wanted defilement – still the tree is here – no longer to hide me but to aid and abet me in this struggle to be fully seen – has just the right sweetness in its bark to activate me – core to core – the roots have tangled and in their vines a diamond born – into the glinting light for all to see, and be healed.