I meant
to tell you that I’m broken between sheets and cans of crayons, the law between
hums. Listen. The tiger hums, sluts it up and sighs. Listen. You’re running on
empty and listing evolutionary details that won’t quit hammering some survival
scream. Bleach the soles of your feet. That’s what I did. Now I’m clever as
Jesus, humming a tune, walking above water, absorbing the earth, my tongue long
and slick with limitless bees warm as yellow, yet beaten down. Now we’re
sailing bucolic heights. Listen. I’ve got to tell you. I’ve a dance that
crawled beneath the alligator’s claw to make slits in her dress. I’ve a dance
that slipped past a disaster into milk and bees, into directions home. I’ve a
dance that built the sky from echoes and scars. The sacred is unraveling. The
crawlspace opens silk ropes into a tidy knot, the brilliance and sweat of a
trance, a railing backwards like the stunned babes of cows. The sacred is
unraveling now. Like a light I can’t process even as I dance to the blossomed
terrace and ache through the twisted groundlessness of desire. Bells wake up
tragedy and the dance leans into a star, a new name. The name is cross-eyed
lady and we’re crawling beneath arrows, sucking earth into our gums.