(System For Creationism)
"Let's create a universe," we said
as we stared at the pale skeleton of
the space heater still-life wonderland picture show,
adrenaline smothering the lungs of our bones until
the absence of air
turned our fingers into organic carbon.
Some days my paper was your skin
and other times I scrawled my algorithms across your teeth,
my self-exploitation getting caught up in their quiet gaps.
Those consistent little notches
reminded me I had a place to fit in with you,
but that it would always be about the space between us
-a pink cellophane elephant living in the tension
of where we wanted our hands to be.
Your palms dripped tar every time you looked at me,
fingers sticky with guilt about thoughts your
pretty girl back home wouldn't like.
These were things I knew, things I ignored
as I replied, "we'll create a universe or die."
That day we stood beneath spotlights and created
halogen masterpiece renditions
that taught us how willpower makes anything possible.
I named our elephant Irrelevant and
sewed bells to her tongue so her voice
would be woven into the music beneath our eardrums
instead of our hesitantly flippant conversations.
I wanted to play games with your skin
-to tattoo my fingerprints across its lonely tundra
and breathe a civilization of existence into its quiet creases.
Five footsteps later I was close enough to hope
that my next exhalation might reach you,
that it could be something other than a mock-calendar tally
of things I was unable to align.
I faked a heart attack
so I wouldn't have to watch my potential success
or failure -so I could make it up
to be exactly what I might want.
In my imaginary situations
my air caused your lungs to swell like warm balloons
that sang drumbeats as they grew
and knew the Morse code of my walk.
Through the numbness of my pretend condition
I thought I heard a sharp intake
of the oxygen I wanted you to breath.
As my nerves spun themselves into knots and snares (the
eloquent mess of self-inflicted unknowing),
all I could think about was your teeth
and how I wanted to lace my fingers through their gaps.
I wanted to reaffirm that I had territory with you,
that the inevitable space between us
was something we could move across.
All out of breath from the difficulty of these thoughts,
I retrieved the air I had given you and
when it came rushing in, it smelled like your skin.
(Authors Note: This is the rough cut part two. It's actually a loose take on the bible's creationism myth -only it's incredibly subtle about it. I would be shocked if anyone could sort out the seven days in this. Anyways: I need to edit through this. It gets a bit prosaic and awkward in places.)
(Last Edit: 3.7.08)