Living In This Body

Living In This Body
© Surazeus
2018 03 05

Leaping through vast space between glowing words,
I dream sparkling like mute stone in night rain,
I learn to live in this body of flesh
my mother molded from soul of my father.

My eyes are eggs of television screens,
my heart is burning apple of dead trees,
my hands are ravens searching for mushrooms,
my feet are horses galloping through storms,
my arms are serpents on old marble statues,
my brain is red sponge fountaining the sea,
my tongue is ocean waves tasting your mind,
and my spine is the tallest redwood pine.

I wanted to be Superman and fly
over sprawling mazes of city towers
but I must walk step by step on hard ground
and map its labyrinth with heroic myths.

Each moment I push forward through thick air
I become mute absence of aching hope
when molecules of spirit fill my space
to swirl wild emptiness of my desire.

I stand on the infinite field of being
and become the absence of where I am
when wholeness of the nothing between atoms
connects my spirit to the universe.

While sitting on the hill, gazing at stars,
I feel the spinning globe twirl upside down,
so rather than looking up at the sky
I know the astonishing truth of space,
that I am hanging head downward from Earth,
bound by gravity of thick pulsing atoms,
and staring down in the bottomless void
where giant stars spew atoms at my eyes.

While staring at the mirror on the door
that leads nowhere in the house where I live,
I see young woman running on the plain
so I call to Florimell who comes by
and we talk about how bees invent God
while she bakes new cinnamon apple pie.

I paint florid portrait of us as lovers,
on the smooth surface of the Grecian urn,
under apple trees by the sparkling lake
about to kiss, about to kiss, with time
spiraling forever around our heads,
and children sit in the museum hall
watching John Keats write our true names on water
to flash negative capability.

How many years of stumbling through the world
did it take for me to learn how to live
in this body I pilot like the ship
of fools on pilgrimage to the dead church
to explore every valley of this world
and map heroic legends in quaint verse?

I understand how people misconstrue
true nature of this body and its brain
as if this vibrant animating spirit
that flashes from the atoms of my flesh
in sparks from functions of hot chemicals
were somehow separate from this clumsy shell,
and how blind they are willing to believe
this spirit beamed from heavenly stars
to operate this body for eighty years
then flashed away as if to find another.

This body generates my flashing soul
like wood fuels the fire that longs to escape
confining skeleton of clunky meat
and soar into the stars, but here I am
inside this body of wet chemicals
that throbs with lust to replicate itself.

My body sprouts from taut coil of its genes
so I am what I am till molecules
that churn aching passions of lusting hope
clatter into agony of old age
and these atoms crumble to senseless dust,
so I eat ice cream and sing spells till I.