I Am the Pristine

I am the pristine
and fruitful
you say god made me and was happy
today he and i sat watching the sunrise
and told each other of our families

he sat in a woven-plastic folding chair
which his skin stuck to
and i fashioned my seat
from a swirling of my twig fingers
and a kiss of river water

i smile at my little brothers
dressed in green sprouts and bare branches
by their constant internal crises
not yet accustomed to the way each fall changes them

my sisters are the revolution
i told him
they are the weeds that fight back the concrete
the only trees on lonely hilltops
they've always hung over every wall in Berlin
rotted their lowest limbs, raging, just too slowly
to let the strange fruit slip back to their feet 

i splayed my wood-digit fingers just atop the ground between us
"my lineage is here," i said
these halls are where my family stretches to one another

and you should know, man-god
this is also where we keep the letters
your family writes for us

it is our hell and torture
not to wrap our limbs
around those of you who embrace us
not to shudder till our bark-skin crumbles
and twist you softly into our rings
for long and fond remembering

we will you sweetness from our flesh
and beckon you to our shade
some time ago
our families' affair
was not so star-crossed as all this

but you climbed out of the canopies
and took to the prairie
found fire and fist to conquer an old friend
the river god no longer retaliates
the world's not flat
and Olympus has fallen
you've taken the honey from your tongue
and laced your blood with metal
you were what you ate
old friend
now you are what you make

it is lore in our world
that man was once
the apprentice of the sun

we made our scriptures from your old words
took them to be a dispatch from the star's cherished ones

mankind was the New Testament
in our old covenant
with helio's burning

i fear, though
you've forgotten your youth
and to this hill i've come
on behalf of a world reeling
beneath and around you

there are those in my family
if i let them
who'd loop their vines
and suffocate themselves
just to parch and flush your lungs blue

your children have sprayed the earth
danced and lauded amidst the poison
sold themselves on the genius that will kill us all

they are the toddlers with a pistol
who don't yet know the dissuasive voice of gun powder

my world is stirring a coup
to remove the young prince
from the throne his doting sun
bestowed upon him,
come what may from the Solar King,
stood over his dead sons' bodies

he'll never recover the crown
our thorns are master guardsmen

go into the fold and fury
of your anomaly
your mind,
you must know
to have your grandparents
blown from the footprints of their past
shredded and burned to shelter excess
your roots would goosebump the earth

there are those amongst you
who watched their children's bodies
hung and strung to dry
and then brittle, they were splintered
and named kindling
to stoke the fires of modernization
the same convlusions now crack our conscience

the probes you push in us
and the needles you've used to innoculate our kind
have made us epileptic
and please know this,
we will shake your instruments
and you
from our skin

for every stand still loyal,
each tract still clutching letters from your former self
there are a thousand who will not catch you after death
will leave your abandoned bones on intact display
for eternal contempt in the dwarfing soil expanse of our hallways

we debate you
as devil or foolish saint
the oldest of us confused over old scripture
but on the scale of the massacre
we are all agreed
you are our leading cause of death

you set down the wise humble ways
of a race that fears the world which birthed it
and think you've made it your slave
now you are the lesser-minded occupier
drawing attention to itself
from the impatient sky and ill-tempered ocean
whose single, one winded breath
contains all that will be and has been
for the infant and dwindling brevity of the existence of men

on the time of redwood and rainforest
mountain life and laughing coral
our two families have just hours to reconcile

grasses still wish to kiss your skin,
our forests learn something of consciousness
from the gardening of your dreams,
with you, on hilltops, we can admire our small belonging
we'll lend our fingers to your writers
and make home in one another

but you must summon your family
shoutdown and crush the voice
which sounds to us like wardrums
for we will not lose this place
to closed eyes and inflated minds
we will simply remain

and somewhere,
i promise you friend,
i will keep those old notes,
in the best of man's bone frames
fashioned in memory of you.

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