Stooti's Poem of the Day

I. For that you never acknowledged me, I acknowledge the spring’s yellow detail, the every drop of rain, the anonymous unacknowledged men and women. The shine as it glitters in our child’s wild eyes, one o’clock at night. This river, this city, the years of the shadow on the delicate skin of my hand, moving in time. Disinherited, annulled, finally disacknowledged and all of my own asking. I keep that wild dimension of life and making and the spasm upon my mouth as I say this word of acknowledge to you forever. Ewig. Two o’clock at night. II. While this my day and my people are a country not yet born it has become an earth I can acknowledge. I must. I know what the disacknowledgment does. Then I do take you, but far under consciousness, knowing that under under flows a river wanting the other : to go open-handed in Asia, to cleanse the tributaries and the air, to make for making, to stop selling death and its trash, pour plastic down men’s throats, to let this child find, to let men and women find, knowing the seeds in us all. They do say Find. I cannot acknowledge it entire. But I will. A beginning, this moment, perhaps, and you. III. Death flowing down past me, past me, death marvelous, filthy, gold, in my spine in my sex upon my broken mouth and the whole beautiful mouth of the child; shedding power over me death if I acknowledge him. Leading me in my own body at last in the dance.