Lital Khaikin, Three Poems

 

 

A MOUTH A MAW

became more a mass, skin became tough
where flesh falls from the ideal clings to a shape

that remained, [wu wei]

contain that human part
a neat arrangement of teeth upon teeth.
elastic skin pulled tense as though before rupture – a smile that deceives the
reason of instinct what was [threat] a smile [a clattering of teeth] the dogs know
the teeth bared – and we – entranced in a waltz about a face making of a face —
stretches wide learning a million ways to tear a body apart for food,

take upon new element where cannot be immersed
what a drowning is above the sea
lungs [a new thing] heave for emptiness – breath is emptiless
new element is a strange filling with active nothing, a gasp for sustenance
new body is hunger

to fill NUL [horror vacui] – that is meant to consume [a saviour’s body], to take
that flesh in, a lamb, a pig, a surplus of bodies
[took flesh into their mouths, and it left them empty]

an art of making death distant [la petite mort] natural decadence
I take you in to be buried in a body

 

 

 

 

THEY DO TALK OF IMMORTALS

To step out is to risk contamination. Preserve the pure gene with holy incest. You can only know God if you are as a child. In you, is the blood of prophets and saints. Reign over kings of the earth. For you, you contain the multitudes. Your body is the temple at which the lamb is borne, at which it is sacrificed. Your blood is the dream of legion. The spirit is for taking. The sanctity of the sacred is not of the body. Woman. You must forget the body to know the One. Leave your body at the temple, the spirit will take you. Open your flesh for the Spirit. Let Him spit upon you. Sun in your mouth, hold all the fire. Sacred conception. Mystery within. God is for the taking. Take him into you. See how very much the Father loves you. be the language spoken by myths [necessarily absenced]

[□ for B – it is believed that – substitute: would be saved – with the tendency of artificial preservatives to linger long after rust has gone through blood – a persistent type of faith in better angels].

Salvation is a drug, push the dopamine dosage in regular intervals – until screaming hero in chains. From her hands into her mouth, obedient. Promised salvation. The body of Christ taken with a glass of wine. Sacral flesh in the throat. She takes the body of the saviour into her, takes flesh and myth, and believes she is saved. Red spills. Spill not the sacred blood of Christ. The sacral Lamb for Abraham’s son. Meat before the fruit of the ground. Wrath come from the undesirable sacrifice. The sacred is appeased with the blood of brutes, but not with the roots of black soils, fruits of the earth. And a hail came from the sky, and they were sharp arrows each metal tip a word of holy prophet makes all speak with one voice. Nation boundary. The new gods are chemical soaked cockroaches terminal dreamers of resistance and fetid black plastic. The holy son walked with the devil in the desert sand. The holy father watched the holy son burn his feet against the hot sand. Blackened sand hums with secret gold. But was this sand not once orchard, full of olives and almonds? Reseeding for territory. Remaking lines by which land is taken – fertile land as the oppressor’s hand. A burning imprint of a hand that ripped through soil a limp dead grey fish hand that limpens in grip a telling tale of bones that know triggershape [bone memory]. What is this deception by which [desert] is barren, by which black tar coats the folded hands of pilgrims, the blood that tears against the palms that graze stone that has wearied of cries – the beating heart that overflows with hot blood and screams for another night, a flattened thing, a cold meat against stone. This desert is intruder. This desert is murder. Face the face of language. What is left?

 

 

 

 

A THOUSAND ARMED BUDDHA

a thousand arms out of law with the body
horror vacui of a species adrift
is a thousand years of crushing her body into dust,
so that now she is certain that she is forgetting how to move
within, one upon one. She might as well enjoy it.
Pleasure of lifeforce – unda – come of early form

SALVATION IS THE NEW SPECIES
SALVATION IS AN ICECREATURE

The purple thing is cold
unformed – Pigface
settles somewhere in the warm red

[…]

 

 

 


bio-pic-litalABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lital Khaikin is a writer, editor, researcher and curator. She is a contributing editor and writer for continent. journal. She has poetry published in Berfrois, continent., .PLINTH., gobbet, and Deluge, with forthcoming work in e·ratio (January 2016).

ABOUT THE WORK

These three fragments are excerpted from a manuscript called Outplace, deliberately representing the rough process of a draft. The text originates out of a central idea in Butoh – the rediscovery and return to a primordial body that replicates memory through the animate and inanimate. The draft excerpts from a confrontation between land and body, of biological function and iconographic tension.

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