Common Ground

Sky-radical, you say
'specialization limits expression,
we must diversify'
and change--
if earth is everything let's leave;
if blood is memory let's get away
from blood and pump glitter instead:
confetti-gushing
papercut palpations of arterial
neon pink and green.

Patterned,
colorblind,
nothing is seen

(but that's okay,
they're the wrong kind of 'diverse'
anyway)

In bones,
gravity thick,
you gouge again where
history is written--but
history is for kids
like angels are for old ladies
(and kids with active imaginations),
which makes grandmother what,
my only begotten child
or something?
Try again,
please--
you're making my lobes ache.

Heaven and earth move
through each other,
orbital,
still minds specializing in
need
to get this done.
Yours would be mantle and I,
blood-clotted, am crusty as ever,
while the moho mojo-moves between us--
specialzing in diversity
it is the space stuck between here and
there,
liquid earth-radical with
histories made strong in
bony strips.

The ground-shaking suggestion--
red confetti.