it was for her, the girl
with the pointed breasts
that I sat in the auditorium;
cheap vodka pervading the air
and my stomach. A woman,
tall, teutonic, split
the Norse air with her voice...

"Zis ist Procreation"
and it started, a cacophony
of howls and vowels
punctuated by her hands,
her fingers stabbing umlauts,
waving tildas, weaving words
from shape and sound...

"Zis ist Pregnancy"
the sounds, muted, whaled
and wailed as she grew in
bearing and girth. The girl
with the pointed breasts
as caught up with the german
as I was with her...


"Zis ist childbirth"
it went on, and on, and on,
minute followed minute of
tortured time became hour
after hour as she mouthed
her complete drawn out
labour until the crowd,
that remained, lay
sweating and stained with her.
The girl with the pointed
breasts, flushed and full,
fawning towards the stage
as the child delivered...



later,

as we lay beneath the birds
of the Norwegian dawn
that was a simple rebirth
of the light already there
and I listened to the girl
with the pointed breasts:

BbMmmm BfffGmm NNHhhjhgMMMMMMMMMMMMM

I understood completely...

02/08/2010

Posted on 02/08/2010
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