Wing’d Partyboy

by: Coop Lee

danceparty by the breath
along my cheeks. by the broken bottles in the
stoop-way light. shards at our feet.
our shoes gather momentum as we enter
deeper into the house.

i start as embryo; building within my mother
as if glob of energy.
as if zoetrope spinning; early fumes
in wait.

father turns tunes and makes music
outside by inside by working his fingers along the knobs. he moves,
& heats in coil orange. his format set by centuries;

particled brothers lay smeared against surfaces
as our king wades upon the world; thru; and away,
with younger thoughts than the thoughts he holds now. extended
to earth for more than just sights.
how far can the heart reach?
how far can the conscious journey?

x-mas lights string to the summertime, and by the beer
bottles glisten. we throb, young cannibals caught
up in our own brittle little social epics.
i speak as growthful boy, as man,
drifting by one-day waters.

watch the significance of flowers.

& by genitalian method we pluck at the notes
of eachother’s hopelessly bound bodies. we write in natural calibur.
write music of momentous, of taste,
of testris-locked loins.

sparrowtailed earth; seed; you submerge like depth charge.
you enter dark tessellations, heave body through rock, through
horizon of death.

you space lost monkey.
you moth: ghost of moist light.

sudden exploding darkness.

breath. beyond doubt of mass; breath
& sweet pungent synthesis.
plant and person.
there is beauty in us; in
us nitrogen-rich followers of the fiber from which we cultivate sparks.
the fiber from which a family draws its excellence.

we ache forth like curved children in upward color
display. we progress the isomer drip to dish to dust; in upward
spiraled seasoned curlies;
as rainbowed strands of data; deoxyribonucleic code;
codes& secrets; and moments only known by us

who live them.