when silence becomes an attachment - Baltimore Post-ExaminerBaltimore Post-Examiner

when silence becomes an attachment

a long root protruding from the esophagus

we must say

something

stand before tyrant crowds who shout for the apocalypse

who jeer you down a forbidden stairwell full of obsolete doubt

watch you tumble down each turn each 180 corner

where the pissy vagrant meth yeti who slips jaundice in the

sterile tooth rot blues

clinks fractured bone on home-drone

& the warzone test signals (an emergency system test  this  is

an emergency system test)

a piercing metallic vibrational

infiltration

to padlock

and key

the neighbor’s party

to keep the dog safe from forced inbreed

(lobotomy of man’s best loyal companion)

how the race of man wishes really to belong to the race of dogs

of horses

(and down the stretch they come)

the up-tuned hero’s brigade

the martial  law

the marital status

replete with guns & scripture ammunition

the don’t-tread-on-me  abused by the progeny of the death-defiers who

sought to reveal it      to unfurl its dark yellow coil at the base of the spine

entwined in the nervous system

the deep mother gorge

the backside of valley falls

(that’s god spittin’ on you)

better wake up skillet

skip

the happy parts  & get

to the part where the bad guy wins

& in the morning his wife

pulls the knife    from the chifferobe

cuts open his throat

ex-tracts his trachea

wrenches root from its hard-won

horizontal

hold

its careworn callous (cactus bone)

(that’s goddess singin over the bones)

better turn under buttercup

moon’s risin’

& she ain’t dead

(not yet i ain’t)

won’t die

she who birthed herself having lain with no one

elijah spoke

he is tired  & angry

resentful even

as every evening

is wearied

by the weight of war

& so we must say something

if only to keep the vocal chords from burning

keep the glands from swelling

keep the verses voices hearts drumming

pendulums thrumming

on the wing bones

the blades of the shoulders

the woven wheat forest

or the dark pubic corners of triad unified

infinite arcs of light connecting the cardinal

points of the body

the hot rod springtime

the mellow drone washtub

the metal harbor

heavy humid fish stank stew

i want to eat it all

gurgle it (boil & trouble it)

& it would shoot out the ends of your toes & your fingernails & your hair

(am i talking too much?)

(why don’t you kiss—)

my fucking ass

this carnival smut fest is over

keep your harp to yourself you last mad generation

keep the inherited scabs of vietnam

(the war after our father’s father’s war)

how they fought

& cut

bramble with machete

& here we are & naked waving not genitals but beams of light

waving not manuscripts but battled plants

we are waging minds against headless horses

and sleepy hollow is not here to help us

he is drunk again

(punch)

hybrid

dirty hybrid

(you a dirty little bird you is)

this train has too many spirits of dead hobo kids on romantic opana roads

& half-assed getaways

there are not enough muscles in the human mind to contain

the magnitude of lucidity

without first breaching the layers of forgiveness between

saturday night opus & sunday morning repentance

atone-ment :: be at one

& this hypnotist spins several yarns

weaves loom & grey weather hammocks

sews sleep into the book shelves

hides ghosts in the pissy bum stairwell

how many nights have to pass before anyone notices the static in the sheets?

one silver shock  & this body does not remember somatic

from psychology

will not divide nor categorize

dissect violence into grids

are shapes that try to dictate the way

in which we move the directionality

of our convergence

but this brain overflows

(the spiral implies an exit point)

the wolf bones :: sing over them

(the goddess rides)

sews together her brother’s torn wars

every night in time for him to tatter

them again

when the cavalry calls in the morning

(& god said let there be fright)

& it was so

& i too have been afraid to speak

i to have forgotten our mother’s most sacred alphabets

i too have wandered between descent  & alive and it means splitting time into fractalized

doses of reality

real

entity

the one life of many lives the one body of may bloods & brains

that beats down the pavement

that splits the cracks where the green shines through

where mother earth takes back her moon

and dumps old pharaoh from the throne that is no throne

that is a mountain

he once mistook for a tower in babel

a lamb amongst cattle

a yoke & oak paddle

to torch the sanctimonious channels of our watery inner web & call it imperfect line

how he devised his own malcontent (male-ficus) & put me on the list for containment

do not box me   you hound whore bond

do not mask my visage in plastic

you know nothing of our work

how we sing through the ancestors

in the name of the spirit

that is no spirit

is no void

but the origin of noise

of toil tireless wind roil

of watery bones

it is why we must say something

it is what silence means &    doesn’t mean

from throat to bleeding throat

where you make the incision

to spill the cornucopia

the neck of the healthy goat

bleating

believe it suffers

as we all suffer

for the honor

to feed

to provide

(will provide)

and if we go on saying something what is the cost?

what is won of that which cannot be won nor lost?

and if we go on saying nothing what is the cost?

what is won of that which will not be bought nor told?

how can we speak of the ancient records of which we have no viable account?

how can we talk about words with words?

(meta maniac)

i will not sit silent when there are whole oceans (one whole ocean) crying

i will not contain that which ought to be released as it threatens to rip stoma & bleed from my eve’s apple

the swollen middle

of the throat

the lodge in it

the choked bark

the sputtered realization

come to a fracking caulk

a pus fueled mess in the chest

where mucus pools

& stretches

between little air sackets

the grapes of the lungs

the gap

between breaths

where the body drops something

where breathing is the same as not breathing

& if you can’t touch your toes when you bend over

then dip your knees it isn’t cheating

it’s a process

one which requires practice

& somatic discourse

to speak from the body

you don’t want to sing from the throat

it’s more of an opening

an allowance

alliance of air flow

pitch

& howl

(how big is your ginsberg?)

mine wraps around my thigh

(kidding)

(not kidding :: animus)

and how does all this chaos (goddess) keep firing dissonance at the constant insistence

of rapid machine gun fire & chemical warfare?

pray more

eat less

breathe

(then   speak)

each word knowing we are all going in many directions

at the same synchronic point in time

how many times do you have to repeat a word or an idea before it loses its meaning?

how many times until it finds new significance?

there is a mountain & then there is no mountain

& then there is a mountain again

& i will sit here in silence until i am uncomfortable

until i am comfortable again

& i will utter truth until you are tired of it

until you will hear it

until you will hear it

until you will bear it with me

 

 

 

 

 


About the author

Caitlan Mitchell

Caitlan Mitchell is an MFA student at Naropa University's Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics, having earned her BA from the University of Maryland. She is a co-editor of The Love Shovel Review, an independent anarchist literary magazine based out of Nederland, Colorado. She has been published in the Naropa SWP Magazine and in The Museum of American Poetics' Napalm Health Spa Report for their Long Poem Masterpieces of the Postbeats. She is currently working on a novel-length lyric myth. Contact the author.
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