from Tongue
And the power to tell is glory
The tongue is the largest organ of the body, just ask the moon
or the homunculus who operates it, thumb up his butt, fish
dying in mouth for want
of water, lily in glass case, or tenthril set
to air
floret,
small flame,
that
by which we are most known
yet
dumb to tell . . .
the story runs out like a relief pitcher,
overanxious (glorious youth!), to
the mound. (He doesn't know
it yet, but he'll never be able
to forget what
was about
to happen.
The pillow, itself
will become a tongue, and
the room . . .
will tell of it, stupidly,
repeatedly . . .
toll
of the heart.
Tongue as measure
Before the hand existed, fully extended, tip of thumb to little finger, as
span, there
was tongue, nascent thought from
heart
up
thru conduits dripping with
water, offal, jungle
rot, sludge of human
sacrifice,
spoor
the first
word a metaphor
for pain:
(Where are letters in residence and where is sound?)
Coronary's floral sidewalk
surprise.
or love:
Wingtip to
clitoris.
Massive heart display.
Fuck!
Hand of tongue on cave wall
echoic of exteriors, sign of aspirant in dream's
middle
cavern,
men leave tracks
in caves, their
paws,
torch rubbings, indications of occupation,
thousands
of years,
trace . . .
the mind
has a tongue of its own
given
to flow as river sewer as blood flows as
well
as streets, cities, worlds running with work, nightmare, confusion,
boredom even despair
has a tongue
and the words
stream behind
fire (borne) fragments of bone shards of
paint pots grave
goods foot prints
or decaying mounds of skeletons, oily
sludge of what
was once at least twenty
individuals saturated with
the glossolalia of dreamspirit, thousands
of years, the cave it-
self whispers, corruption
seed or
a
bear's skull
set on block
of stone
overhanging
jaw,
tongue and word as well
as world,
points to The Bear Gallery
the cave whispers
to itself
nec mortale sonans