02/23/2011

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tao is the secret to hamsters… they know no shame… like the penelope body they know no shame even when their heads are bitten off and the blud that rings brightly in december is just as smart.

my body is full of hamsters. they are like jelly beans. nuded, they are fetal. they are hot and lubricated.

the kind that live on the steppes of russia.
yes, they are here. here in the earth body
with the patient core…

inside the prison cell
i see through cracks
where spider egg eyes look through me… through the plasms
ribbons and ribbons of no nucleus… only tunnels through which the hams tunnel.
they make rustling noises and their teeth are like nail clippers. i am the vacuole…

cobwebs of flagella wave anemone. mother hands weave through them like clown fish. clownish, she is brown and white and cow desperate… ruptured everywhere like a rose tree of tissues… clear energy drains from her eye slits.

thousands of nude hams crowd me. i rip through layers of skin on surfaces of milk, blud seeps through… if i could get to the center then i can stab it and put it through the sewing machine… but not before i put it under the microscope and gawk at its awesome veins… god is so tiny and bluddy… and prolific… o god…

so many miscarriages litter the cell tubes…
one cannot escape the ham body…
exclamation marks all over the fallopian tubes.

the beach is poxed with washed up flesh beans…


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"the feel beast..."

the feel beast has feelings.

feelings are born without sight and must cling to the feel beast's back.


understanding is violating my place.

feelings come inside the dead end.

you can never understand

unless you break this

strange mass

and I break out in a pus of war.


am beast.

feelings rip my perineum.


feelings blend

the private and the pubic.


i prod you with feelings

without knowing.


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soft shelled

we make a crocodile…
she cries when she eats…
i take your blind eye and it speaks crocodile tears
like the fat of consumed deer to the back of my throat.

all these foreign bodies.

this is the jungle…

the light streaming through fat leaves is like my infection…
packets of energy, yet unnamed, each waiting for gills
and lungs to see.

i love to drink these tears that come
quietly and dirtily like laundry…




the crocodile flood penetrates deep into the earth body.
pebbles in the earth body tremble with suffering joy.
listening of the feast reveals fields of crocodile eggs like dumplings…
mother hands smashing the minced pig and sesame oil… and the tiny deer horns for surplus protein… mother hands pinching the clots into liquid…
the pin roller is revealed. it rises up like a monument out of the earth body slow as erosion and glad like the dwindling crocodiles.

this penelope body is crushed.
this gets close to the earth body and this life mound is crushed…
liver and intestine confuse and the farm-neat striation of rough muscle split into feast fibers… put them through the loom through the ducts…
waiting grows big and dense with a forest of soft and bone… the soft trees weave together… she doesn't believe in the rising but her yeast looks downward…
this penelope body yields to the earth body. she is full of crocodiles…
all of them masticate the mammal juices… all of them love the wet dark…

yellow linen stretches over the outline of the penelope body…
she is deep now, deep with fossil… the crocodile eyes rub against dinosaur form in the darkest dark. inside the boiled earth body are embryos packed in cysts. loom sounds unpack them. there is a humming inside the earth body. all of them call and wait deeper and deeper and fluid fossils are packed injected with embryo reduction like roe and the crocodile life heats.


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core

penelope opens her mouth and pulsing ducts flutter like lampreys.
penelope body opens laterally… so dense that hard apples on the edge of the earth body suck to it…
it sucks you and you cannot help it.
the core of the earth body inside this body cooks life into deathland…
you ram the cervix and black love drips from the ram horns.

i dilate around you
the dead babies squirming on their stalks in my earth body demand you… and your beautiful names… fucking names… the ramming of names is what i feast on… i've been feasting for a long time i'm pleasure gorged…

your name is spider with a blud drop on its back…

a sea of spiders…
all of them rush to the core of the earth body.

the pressure bursts them and there is blud everywhere now and the blud is milky.


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Feng Sun Chen is afraid of bios. She guesses that she lives in St. Paul and believes that she has the ideal personality to be a nun/monk, but only the kind that is not devout and not theist and if the silence she seeks is the silence of indeterminacy and anti-dualism. She studies poetry at the University of Minnesota (Minneapolis) and hopes to see more wildlife and exercise more in the future.