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07 August 2013

Strange Dancers, pts. 0 and 1

0. Frontispiece

My friends are strange
 talented writers
 musicians and actors
 lovers and mad 
 like lambic-drunk monks 
My friends are strange
 basking in the sun
 the sex of its golden rays
 we are bathing on the shores
 on the beaches of contested lands
My friends are strange

1.  Entourage

These shores are also naked
The sun having stripped them of vegetation as it strips us 
Unclothed beneath the nuclear sun, the fissile sun
It dissolves as it pours its rays over us like rain 
Its internal convections shearing off its own skin which
Sloughs slowly off and ripples outward 
Its mass finally exhausted with the burden 
With the weight of symbols enumerated
By millennia of symbolic hyperbole 
Its flares in our astigmatic eyes render us half blind.

In the distance immense thunderheads shimmer and quake 
The sky in its opal vastness trembles and blue bends 
Across the spectrum it bleeds into violets and reds Platonic
Over oceans whose inverse percolations resupply the thunderheads
   Enough to power the history of us
She whom we call Mei says 
Ancient gods cower amid perpetual rumble and roar
Our other mouths still and mute her voice drifts among us
   In even this much of a moment
She whom we call Mei says
Her name a tripartite declaration of heritage
Her temporal origin
Her infinite possibility 
Her voice a shallow shrug. 

We lie on fine sands ten thousand years old 
Worked still by the kneading ocean 
We four lie backs bare in the pattern of a trident
I the stem and my crown in the sea
She whom we call Mei
Medial of these three worthies
Arms interlocked and the feet of
This my self upon her crown
These three worthies
Above my underfoot.

We will soon be likewise stripped of our skins
As we have been already of our clothing
He who calls Mei his but not his alone
He a frank participant and august lover and
Instigant and acersecomic fallow-maker of language and shameless 
In decoupage he spat his name into the cresting waves yesterday 
He now goes without it and binds his locks with wooden combs
His vestments no more than sheaves of happenstance fabric which unwind 
Beneath the force of the sun and arms outstretched in riotous embrace declares
   It gets to one’s head!

Likewise another is his complement our sinister tine
Her androgyny in her Roman name July
They three are a dynasty in accidental reference
Though with them in this respect I am apart
Named instead for one who slept fearlessly
Among carnivores with golden hides beneath the Arian plain
We honor the habit of our names in prostration.

We are golden and olive and white 
We are speckled bronze and freckled
With constellations we reflect the blue blindered heavens 
Which the sun sequesters behind its crowning flares which meet their quantum
Twin entangled in the corneal glare against which only a lofted hand can shade
Shimmering in sweat and oil below the arcing bolts 
Our sweat flashes white as liquid prism
Chrism upon us it is the Undifferentiated Color 
But we ourselves in feigned sin are the alloys of a thousand
Baser metals on these contested shores 
Which ring with the echoes of gunfire from beyond the shoreline ridge.

These shores are bordered on three sides by quarry walls 
Rocky they are and even their primordial vegetation 
Remaining only as calcified periphery
These shores even have been stripped of mineral history
And what remains is only flesh as noumena both
Our compound projection is only ideation as flesh
Calls of voice echo in increasing volume beyond the mined bedrock
Echoes punctuated by firearms unseen compete even with thunder 
Sounds in factious combat cause our white sheen to tremble.
Mei she is extends her tongue languidly 
Along the collarbone of either neighbor
But not I who lie rooted in the ocean
Which kneads at me as it does the fine sand 
A hundred miles distant thunder answers the rhythm of 
Destructions cellular and psychic and borne by clarified will
On these contested shores.

Lying now as we do now our vestments in ashes 
Ashes with which we mark lazy crosses
Across each other’s foreheads  
Navels and breasts bear these fractal depictions 
The horizon and its ocean source and thunder
Beneath eyes and above sweat smeared brows
Paralleled strikes smeared on taut common flesh 
Fingers dress fine ash upon Mei
Her face and her eyes are as tarnished gold 
Lambent even in the shade of a hand brought to her brow 
Her fingers open to grasp loosed hair

On these contested shores.

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