all finger-tips
in adumbral dreams a-counting
the arithmacy of a one-day king
(bead-numbers dance
like splitting-cell-moons
strung to the cord of gravity)

(all finger-limbs and budding wings
spinal tail and nerve-endings)

fetal mind afloat
(sink-bob-fishing yet umbilical-anchored)
on a salty, inner sea
(my tides pulled only by your placental gravity)

single mind, single path
single horizon-tunnel
leading to endless possibilities
under bluest blue-eye skies
(that only you can limit)

new algebras part old algorithms
(dreaming of)
a new-born beak through albumen
shell-perceptions fall away
(sharp-toothed predators swarm)

new postulates part old premises
(dreaming of)
a newly-risen sun through vulva-clouds
amaranth petals peel away
(pollen-gatherers swarm)

the beads of my abacus
red-blood-cells strung
on shared vein-prayers
and happenstance

(late-night indiscretions,
half-hearted penetrations,
and desperate,
early-morning shower-sessions)

water, like blood, pulses
each beat-pump-slide,
each column carried over, adds
to this nine month dream
(my fingers join in prayer)

(take another draught to quench
that new thirst welling up inside)

all nerve-endings
in allotheism a-searching
for baptism in alluvion
(bead-numbers flow
like curve-tides plotted
pulsing to the flow of your gravity)

with each doubling i evolve
now snake,
now frog,
now four-legged-god
(possibilities only you can limit)

blind and visionary
i rearrange and split again
new beads, new possibilities
between giants hung
(gravity strung) and strumming
in cosmic (dis) harmony

(reach in deep
and dare to
touch me)

11/12/2002

Author's Note: Uncertain about the first incarnation of 'the abacist,' I've been working on this version. I'm debating whether or not I have one or two poems here. I want to maximize the correlation between the abacus beads, cells (blood & embryonic), moons, and water droplets, as well as that of placental fluid with sea water. Gravity and tides, evolution and fate, under the umbrella of math. I'm sure there's more I can do with this. I've never written about my genetic past before. Have to pry open that third eye, have to live up to my own dare: reach down deep and *touch* Help me here, please.

(part of a conversation with Mr. David E.j. Perez, that I'm posting here so that I won't forget) it's a large fish, awkward to hold even in both hands. I'm a stickler for form and neatness, so I'll have to bust out with my sushi knife and do some hard thinking in terms of technique and presentation.... That's why I didn't remove the abacist when I posted embryonic split... I might have two poems here, Siamese twins that can only be separated with the most careful planning....

(all the pictures were found using Google Images)

Posted on 11/12/2002
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