I HAVE A MUSIC IN ME

I have a music in me
a grinding of wheat sheafs 
golden and gritty
like sequins and sun rays
or the hollering of freed thieves
drinking in empty nunneries.

Unassuming and gentle,
the call of blood stained warriors
denouncing their bad days,
drunk on the vapors 
of yesteryear's wine haze.

Shamanistic
linseed oil and lipstick,
bottled cataclysm,
altruistic murderer's mischief
and the crack
of an elephant gun. 

I have a music in me
that defies existence,
pulls the strings out of cellos,
harpsichords,
violins,
and all sorts of trinkets.

The drosophylla dances,
it deems the corpse flower delectable.
I prefer orange blossoms.
my music is an inflorescence
a fragrant spadix,
silky and self pollinating.

If Ernst Haeckel could hear it
he would draw fifty radiolarians
and i would slap him on his brilliant head
and tell him that the sound begins
not with the language,
dense with verbal barnacles
not with the human,
bound by his own manacles
the origin of music
is perfume so ungodly,
irrational and slimy,
clean as silver whistles,
succulent and grimy.

I have a music in me
that defies the rules of science
it could kill a thousand jesuses
and tame a million savage lions
I have a music in me
that shines like shattered diamonds.

Oh sugar
Oh molasses
Oh sweet nyssa honey
my body is a tar baby
incapable of holding money
but i have a music in me
a bellowing of ctenophores,
blue as burning copper chloride,
and hot as a whore's belly.