WEBVTT

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"She offers her palette like
a heart, paints fertile earth.

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Green vines and leaves spring
from her womb, her heart,

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while blood drips into
veins that take root

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in the soil in front of her.

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She nourishes the Earth with her
body, the woman with her body.

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She feeds the Earth.

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Second one-- darling,
earthling, soil, love,

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she holds herself
above her, lowers

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herself feeding folds and folds
of fertile gorgeous earth.

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She smiles, 'you are sweet, and
Diego, too, would like you.'

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And she drags her down, rooted
to the soil, stone, spine,

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vagina fused to the
throbbing earth,

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sunken, fucked, the
feminine Earth lit

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by Rose's body of a woman,
fire, future in your darkening

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theater proscenium of night.

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And you smile, mutter not
in any known language,

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'I am eating the Earth.

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I need the Earth
in my mouth now,

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a rose opening, chucha,
perfect one, unbroken.

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Put it into my mouth now.'

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A tree grows inside you.

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I have seen it.

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Leaves sprout from your veins.

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Your blood nourishes the Earth.

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You drag your sexual
entrails to the sacred place,

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drawn to the swirling, this
final place of fury and desire.

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Your tears are nails and
paint, abyss of birds,

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ruined spine, leg--

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No, no, blood shall be shed.

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One good leg, kiss me again.

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And she is furious, a fury
flailing, screaming, tortured,

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then replenished,
hung upside down naked

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and tied in an attempt
to strengthen her spine.

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And you were left in the end
with all that pain cannot take

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from you.

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Many nights, she
hung upside down

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from the bed's canopy, the
blood rushing to her head

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while the women
sat and whispered,

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prayed, 'pray,
come to me now down

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the dirt road, my little one.

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You remind me of a
little girl I once knew

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at the prepa, smooth and
perfect before the accident.

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And you sit laughing with
all that pain cannot take.

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And who could refuse
you, your dark dares?

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You're outrageous.

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You're flagrant, your stare.

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If I could carve with
thorns, Diego, into you--

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allegiance, fidelity, carve
wild fidelity, my blood sport,

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my art, paint pulsing,
paint flowing, beauty,

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beating like an injured thing.

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If I could carve my
pain, draw blood--

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'look,' you say, pointing to the
little deer pierced by arrows.

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'Its head of a saint, its
head of a cursing martyr,

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its leather corset,
a grief-induced,

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hallucination a sex-induced
or pain-induced-- look there,

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the open fruit, the
lacerated melons,

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pomegranates revealing
their juices, juicy,

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just a little skin pulled
back on that one, pulpy, hurt,

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and splayed.'

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She is arranging and rearranging
her long black hair and earth,

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the trinkets in her
hair, the arrangement

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on the dressing table.

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She looks at the woman
in the mirror, slowly

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applies paint,
radiant, radiate, free.

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She stares and offers the
heart-shaped palette world

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tonight.

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Men ascend double
staircases looking for you,

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but you are not there.

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You are out painting.

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You were watching the eclipse.

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You were balancing fire,
arranging and rearranging,

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outlining the shape of a woman
and gently filling her in.

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You were nailed by roses
now and gently fastened

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by the girl to this
extraordinary world.

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You are in the midnight
garden spooning earth,

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devouring gorgeousness, because
I miss you with all my heart

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and my blood, Diego,
heart and blood, solemn.

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Feed me slowly tonight,
filling my mouth,

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all the assassinated
friends, votive, devotion,

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light tonight.

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And she remembers just a girl.

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Opening, she draws a
door, and her death opens.

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All is river of light,
and her father photographs

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her, river of, sublime tonight.

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She loves the sun clanging,
and she's drawn, child tonight.

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Lighting a small
votive, she watches

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it float out on the river,
river of, smooth and perfect

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thigh tonight.

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A third thing in
the dark, stars,

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are rubbing all over
with earth and leaves.

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Furred lip of the
open fruit, she

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reaches from her
palette the way color--

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'let me live,' she
begs in pain and dread.

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She is desiring,
devouring, time,

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and there's a fire in
the earth where you lay.

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'Swear, my Linda,
swear, my juiced up

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plum, my little
goose, my gringa.

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Swear, you will, swear.'

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And she is drawing
all the fruits

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of this world, hurt of the
earth, convulsive, beauty,

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bride tonight, free, free of
that odd exaggerated step.

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No blood, no blood, and pain
is a rose beneath your tongue

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dissolving, and pain is
just another way there.

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You walk.

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The road of tears is broken.

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So love me again
until we're left

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for dead, exhausted,
unmoving, bereft.

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She opens one eye and
laughs like a wild thing,

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bats her lashes,
takes the little spoon

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from around her neck,
and feeds the earth.

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She writes, Diego, my love,
all over my body in mud.

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Mischievous one, she writes,
'viva, viva la vida.'

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You write, Diego, all over my
body, and as night approaches,

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you write, luz.

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You paint light
and fury, and she

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is devouring everything,
everything, with her eyes.

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'I beg of you,' she whispers.

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'If you want me to
go, take my sight.'

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Once again, desire
has made a ruin of us,

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a pile of loamy soil, a
dome or a concave, a grave,

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and sweet pain as a tablet
in your hand dissolving,

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a host beneath your tongue,
a sugary skull, a rose.

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Where does your life go?

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No, no, no blood, no blood,
no blood shall be shed,

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no blood shall be shed.

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You are walking down a dirt
road, your people, body,

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broken, no blood, free for
a moment, a little free.

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No blood shall be shed.

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She presses me up
against an earthen wall.

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World tonight, line
tonight, smooth and perfect,

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you are walking, knife through
the succulent melon, knife

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through.

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She closes her eyes and
touches my unbroken body,

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my smooth and perfect thighs.

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She trembles, whispers, bites
my ear but gently blurs,

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'Take me to the other side.'

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And the workers
singing working songs,

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and the women singing
freedom songs,

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and a woman outlining
an image of herself

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with extreme care,
tenderness, and filling it in.

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No blood shall be shed.

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No blood shall be shed.

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Love me gently this time.

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No blood shall be shed
anywhere in the world tonight."

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