The Early Morning of Ivory

Where is the desert in my body?  Where is the deep crack in the earth from whence rises my will?  Surely there are towers of ice shadowing the undulation of my ribs and there must be stretches of waterless sand shifting across my heart and spilling into the hollows of my stomach.

No more, only an emptiness, an echo….

There was a time when we were born with a vast geography inside our bodies, energized by the light of the sun.  The hunt for food in the wilderness, the migratory path of the big animals, the gathering of the birds, the currents of the oceans and the rush of fish into the folds of a fifty million year old dream.  Land and stars and life…all of it mixed in our flesh; all of it caused our gods to stir; and there in the firelight was our reflection and response to everything terrible and good.

Yes, we once had mountains and valleys wet with our blood.  Yet, now the path is diminished.

We only have the wisp of what life used to be all of those eons ago.   The vapors and frozen magma of countless cycling seasons that once ripped through the human form have ended.

All that we feel in the distant recess of our bones has been replaced with foam rubber and freeway traffic and late payments and bombs.  Instead of the heart-felt and atavistic veneration of life and death, we have entered a virtual world of false images, where suffering is a long-distance affair and when it finally and inexorably comes to us, we consider it to be unfair and laden with politics.

Animals and plants have no politics, neither do the volcanos nor the oceans, nor the dust of stars that herald new realities, but in the end, all of what we once were, shall devour us.  The land of our bodies is no longer filled with the grip of nature and sitting here at my computer, sending out electronic signals to the world, I feel an overwhelming sadness.  My ancient interior map has deteriorated into almost nothing.

It is now only the tone of my mud religion: it is the early morning of ivory:  it is the alert of dogs on the sweep of a hill: it is my electronic love affair with you.

All of this I believe and nothing more.

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3 thoughts on “The Early Morning of Ivory

  1. With fingers white as rubber gloves and a belly clutching food all the nondescript tawny of empty carbohydrates, I consumed this like a healthy meal. I am hungry all the time for the kind of orgasmic inertia wrought by the intimacy in your writing.

    Perhaps the quality is amplified by the empty stomach and eager palette.

    Liked by 1 person

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