The Poetry Marathon

and then it happened. by evening, they told us we were no longer

children. we could not chase frogs and follow their hop, wear pink

raincoats with matching boots and fake ear drops and the worst

was, from now on, our hearts would be kept in overnight jars to harden

in tomatoes and salt. only in acid and tang can preservation occur, they

insisted. for us, who skipped, why did we trade for a chewed up crayon,

was mystery, when we wanted to dream in pisces, speak with sage beasts, and

burn tongues in chocolate steam. life would be magic as an adult, they nodded,

just believe. so we learned the practice of peculating with striped suits and lost

our childhood, its friends and sugar cane. and never scraped an elbow again.

darkness, for its wet breath and half-willowed trance,

together, we named it a slut for its gifts and reprieve,

because we couldn’t see what was hiding,

in the back, behind sky, under rocks, within seas.

it left. for us to quarrel with only the sun. and what we

have done, has burned the holes

where was our two eyes. in it’s place, i’ve placed berries

dripping tart and red honey, and now, i know,

creatures, shackled to land, aren’t made

for what is real at any time or even, at all for time. in the hours that

heaven may have been keeping us from. before we killed the myth, and desire

was our creation’s naked sin, we found without night, we were nothing

but rotting strip tease, crispy coated flesh, and a puncture hollowed for bloodbaths.