Piece of meat

When words are so visual and I happen to be channeling someone or something else, I can’t find any image to accompany my poems. This was written in a trance like moment.

I’m just another piece of meat, you know?
I’m just another piece of meat who moves inside a metallic beast to get to where I want,
On my way to downtown Portland, the max, this metallic anaconda with a thousand eyes on all sides
Carried to various destinations my fellow pieces of meat,
The etiquette during transportation was to refrain from any demonstration of sudden joy or panic
Seem lifeless for too long
And you will not know when
This life ends and the next one starts

But more than anything I miss dancing
I miss putting these hips to use
Moving them right to left
To shake myself loose of this and that
To see my old self crawl out to its death
As I put on new skin for the whole world to see
After all, I’m a piece of meat
but a lean and tender one
You can’t just reject me before
you have had a taste
And you find out how sweet
I am on a first impression
and how sour I turn when your gaze
Changes its focus

I also miss climbing buildings
My nails sinking on their metallic skin
As I make my way to the top
Pour ceuillir le fruit defendu
While helicopters, these silver bees scout the sky looking for their queen bee
I can’t show them the way
When I’m looking for my own path
In this concrete jungle where
Hearts break and minds ache
All I know is to get my sorry butt
Moving and knocking and seeking
For that next big wave that’s coming.

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4 thoughts on “Piece of meat

  1. But more than anything I miss dancing
    I miss putting these hips to use
    Moving them right to left
    To shake myself loose of this and that
    To see my old self crawl out to its death
    As I put on new skin for the whole world to see

    First, there is a (possible) intertextuality in these lines with Lucille Clifton’s “Homage to my Hips” (see here: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/homage-to-my-hips/).

    Second, these lines remind me of a recent conversation in which I was speaking about the way Congolese men (or rather musicians) dance as if they have ball bearings on their waists (“to shake myself loose of this and that”). I still think Thierry Matouz is the Congolese Michael Jackson, particularly in his seamless blending of MJ’s moves with Congolese hip-and-dance-movements.

    Third, I like the idea of dance, which is erotic, particularly dance that involves hip movement, with the snake-like shedding of skin. I have never thought of snake shedding skin as erotic (pun intended), but maybe it is time to think of this.

    • Oh I have never read that poem by Lucille Clifton, but I like it. In India, snakes are charmed to a dance and I have watched enough documentaries to come to the conclusion they have the most beautiful skin among animals.
      Beautiful women are called as such not only because of the symmetry of their features, but also for the beauty of their skin, hmmmm I feel another poem coming….

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