FATIMA ARTERRA : CONTRAFICTIONS

 

             
          NUDE SKETCH – 15

          And what weepy Winterkiss realeyesed that morning was
          His simplyciti in all its anchorite silence and
          Utterrants as they are joined in marriage within his buzz
          (Think of Winterkiss as a human bee trapped in the sand
          Slipping down through the tight neck of an hourglass’s walls)
          Of being response-able as a half-blind wit-ness while
          Never forgetting to keep his ears open for the calls
          To that impersonal purrity no dog can deafile.
             So Winterkiss got out of bed and bowed down to the Sun,
          The resident and so visible god of purity
          Whose power lies in rendering light’s truth to everyone

 

                   SKETCH – 16

 

           Earth's generosity, unlike her fathim-Sun’s, can shift
           From uttered surface-sprouting kindness to undergrownd, sheer
           Quake-making hellish reclayming of her gifts – in the blink
           Of a human eye, and the solar eye may have to seep
           Its light down through the thickest of Earth-clouds as dark as ink
           (Clouds the stubborn fruit of contemptestuous minds that keep
           Their polluting waste piled up in the sky’s promissing plains,
           The business of evaporation and condenstation
           And precipitation the mere cogs of blind minds’ dark rains
           – A notion you may think stinks of mad imagination
           But, as my flies reveal, sane dreams are dreams called mad, made mad
           By all the measures of insanitty that pass for sane)

 

                                – 17

            By bowing to the Sun, did Raimonde Winterkiss believe
            He could ensure sum specious special privilege down here
            Or up their?    He once said he saw himself as a slight sieve
            That gathered light so as to sift and spread it through the air
            Of the Auden-named ‘prison of his days’ (or day – just one:
            ‘Days’ clung to inmates who believed they’d always be one more
            Chance to un-cook and re-balance their books of Breath before
             Auditor Death’s surprise-visit to foreclose on their bones)

 

                                – 18  

            Pessimist sentimental (Nay and Aye), our Winterkiss.

               We may think so, but he saw himself as a realist
            Who, going trough Hell, had to keep going, sweeping a path
            Through it shot coals, shedding all its shadows before missed,
            Clearing its shelves and books of false numbers, ‘doing the math’

            (from *fatima solagua arterra’s nudes* by Brian Chan, 2015)