The Dying Body Chronicles 19 : The mortal flesh become god
It was sudden, the god of your body;
a colossal being, infinte. The light
wounded the night & in the blood
spatter, you were there,
this powerful body dressed in
melanin skin & chromosome structure.
In your hands, were prayers of
oceans & oasis, palm trees swept
the foliage of your feet.
As the night bled, being with you,
your form began to take shape
like dust & seasons of locusts.
The trees twisted in their terrible
embrace of the wind, gathered leaves
about their feet as you rose
into the mountain of your seat.
This young god, young black blood
risen from the roots of mangroves
& the sap of earth, erect like a
tenting short sweeps your gaze
into vast proximity of your
dominion. Your subjects, your hands
bow, their prayers stifled by
the horror of your gaze. You open
the maw of hell to them & they hear
your torment. How many millennia
have you died in that tomb.
Your hands raise your body from
its broken seat as the lava begin
to spew & you clamber on all fours
to the glory of your name.
Among the river filled with silt
& remnants of forgotten troubles
you find a mirror, see your facade
for the first time. There is
a mighty roar in your bones,
a swallowed sea. It rushes like
a typhoon towards the shores
of your tongue where your teeth
stand like ravines, ready to eat
whatever the world brings. You raise
the banner of your fist, pummel
the fat stomach of the sky so rain
fall will happen & you can root
yourself to the earth & germinate.