Before the story starts
The flying skies are blue then black,
As clouds pass like sheep beneath the rod of heaven.
Eyes open up their mouths to drink the light
That floats like liquid gold into their wells.
The pools are full of bolts
That flash along the gelid paths to wake
The sleeping unformed god that takes its shape
From constant shocks.
It sees a face.
A pang shoots through the long canal
That opens with a piercing push of air.
It feels the press of smell and flesh
Then receives a flow of sweet and wet.
The filling rush and scent press out
Until its full and rounded shape is stretched to stop.
The cold of all around gives way to warm
The safety of constraint.
The whole runs through like looping film
That repeats again, again, again,
Until the force of flow threatens to explode
And then ahh release like birth,
Both the shock of loss
And pleasant smile of full relief.
A speck of protoplasmic cells,
Its limbs extend and poke again the inward god.
The god becomes aware of all its parts
As surrounding air revolves and turns
The inward sky around to balls and dots
To myriad silver spots like spit
That coalesce into looming shapes
With rounded eyes like lamps.
The pungent smell and heat
Of blood and straw and beasts.
The tingling of the toes and lips
The tongue and fingers slip…
In a body in a room,
The story starts.
very nice poem