loren fell

Rookie (July 1,1980 / Hollywood, Florida)

Sunflowers - Poem by loren fell

A warm, embryonic breeze sways my direction
To the dull pain of Phaethon's fiery race and the
Birth of pulpy, green sex organs stretches my awareness
To a neoteric wall sealed in wild flowers.

I rarely get a chance to be changed by the sun,
Let it's watery reflection distort far away images
When I recall the gravity of clear vision, looking
Back from where I came... this is what happens at dawn.

Your stone eye glistens with the wetness
Of sacrifice, of birth and I see
A picture of these star gazed fems,
Delphinium hips and agape, a daisy
Chain mouth that opens when it snows.

They're painted with bright yellow hair,
All neck from the ground up,
To drink up your golden wet saliva;
I remember them full and pretty:

Larkspur, liatris, lisianthus, oncidium orchids.

Girls that I knew, dirty fingers with
Smokey rings for nails, mother-may-Is in training
And a feeling of nourishment from discomfort;
Out of need for dissection I mixed them with cold
Receptors, pins, and the smell of preservation.

I'm nauseous at the look of their baby breasts
When I remember how they pouted like cheeks and firmly
Laid the platform, der bahnsteig, for understanding
Where my sensory recall was taking me.

My field of flowers, my sun drenched
Early mechanisms where I stood flaccidly
In the corner watching the foliage turn
Experimental; a ripe effluvium washes
Sex-scented memories of disembodied
piglets and frogs on the cross...
Croaking in Aramaic?

Leap pads where the Word sat in meditation
On the first steps to creation,
Heaven is this room swirling in my head
Where I learned to hold a knife just so, to cut
Precisely and take the vindicated smell
Of marred animals into deep wet dreams.

Sunflowers caused me great pain
And early suffering, they were eating me.
Securus! Sanctuary! Sanitarium!
Anodyne alliteration stored deep;
When I move, you can't hear
The sound I make a thousand miles away.
Like a creep I've pushed out all but you,
Like a stranger now alone in my room.

Fantasy as a friend,
To lull me in her medicated rhythms,
Is jealous to the frequency
Of a caustic exchange.

Flashes of red send me reeling;
Quick, sonic vacuums in stereo sound
Pull me to my vibrating chair.

The cold walls marked in glorious white,
That fake color in it's mockery,
Are comforting in the harsh clinical emission
That feeds my meditation.

I see thick feverish towers,
The needy stabbing knives.
I can feel the moist precipice
Dangle me above the warm walls
Of the forever hole.

There are a million consistent
Hands that help me, wash me unending
With the pregnant weight of the moon
Into green shadows marooned.

Sustain me those ocean breaks, sea foam
And deadly friends adapted to the unwavering
Discontent of the sea. You are the mother
Of my memories bringing me the bait I need
To trap all my tender and infectious lovelies.

Are there vents in your belly to breathe
And lay whispers to teach me, enough
For surviving their calculus,
To keep me hard at the smell of sunflowers
And knives, give life to a nose that sniffs at
The discovery in cold skin?

Frog princess, build me a home in your
Delineation to life's sour reflection.
A piece of ass will be the death of me.

When I'm held, then I am allowed
To travel from fertile egg
To make-shift love.
There's safety in numbers,
As many as I can fit in a grave
Dug for more than two.

And in that final release,
When it's sensual cleanliness does come,
I'll drowned my forgotten children
With the unsullied, faultless tidal waves of a holocaustial abortion...

An army of my own led to the slaughter.


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, March 23, 2006



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