Teach Me How To Fly a Plane: An Insomniac's Guide to Falling

eating aether

[Etheridge Knight's A Violent Space, poem rewrite]

My Rewritten Poem  -
Eating Aether

rearrange the stars in the blanketed sky. steal
the old light for all of your then-glory.
but when you take from me my coveted tongue –
and violet smudged thighs and ocean eyes,
tired yet bright – don't run when the jaw drops.
(fight Atys fight – you won't take a bite)

so the tower bell falls suddenly,
and your sun cries for another childhood
not lost to false memories, blotched out by ink
run red with angel tears and now incomprehensible,
and you will place it between records
because I'm your library and we fell out.
(fight Atys fight – you won't take a bite)

and, damn, the bell still tolls.
I am all of seventeen and as timid now
in my angelhood as I was when the ink stains
pressed between my fingers.
and, god, here we are:
you are gone and this song stands.
so what would you do? would you stand
with a hand in the clouds and make love to the
vengeful titans?
shall I take Pandora on one final day?
(fight Atys fight – you won't take a bite)

in the beginning you were the new sun,
and you are the sun now.
but somewhere between Delos and Delphi
you lost your divinity to the wraith of Helios.
"Γνῶθι μαθών
Ἡττῶ ὑπὸ δικαίου,"
know what you have learned, and be overcome with
justice.
(fight Atys fight – you won't take a bite)

and what do I do. I bury my fears in a mangled earth
and repent my lullabies to your grandmother Gaea.
I sit counting syllables like Midas gold.
I am not bold. I cannot yet take hold of her box
and lift the hubris of humanity from my shoulders,
so I grab the night and sing my song.
(but the night cannot stand my singing long.)

Original Poem by Etheridge Knight -
The Violent Space

exchange in greed the ungraceful signs. thrust
the thick notes between green apple breasts.
then the shadow of the devil descends,
the violent space cries and angel eyes,
large and dark, retreat in innocence and in ice.
(run sister run – the Bugga man comes!)

the violent space cries silently,
like you cried wide years ago
in another space, speckled by the sun
and leaves of a green plum tree,
and you were stung
by a red wasp and we flew home.
(run sister run – the Bugga man comes!)

well, hell, lil sis, wasps still sting.
you are all of seventeen and as alone now
in your pain as you were with the sting
on your brow.
well, shit, sis, here we are:
you and I and this poem.
and what should I do? should I squat
in the dust and make strange markings on the ground?
shall I chant a spell to drive the demon away?
(run sister run – the Bugga man comes!)

in the beginning you were the Virgin Mary,
and you are the Virgin Mary now.
but somewhere between Nazareth and Bethlehem
you lost your name in the nameless void.
"o Mary don't you weep don't you moan"
o Mary shake your butt to the violent juke,
absorb the demon puke and watch the white eyes pop,
(run sister run – the Bugga man comes)

and what do I do. I boil my tears in a twisted spoon
and dance like an angel on the point of a needle.
I sit counting syllables like Midas gold.
I am not bold. I cannot yet take hold of the demon
and lift his weight from you black belly,
so I grab the air and sing my song.
(but the air cannot stand my singing long.)