Recipe

Do this now, with a great amount of care,

split the pod of this body and expose

the nuclei that have passed for my mind -

(I’m not so sure of the immortal soul)

flick a nail down the line of join and tear

the kernels like plump peas into a bowl

prop the shell against a surface, because

all said and done, no pea is quite designed

to be without its shell, dangling from - what?

so keep the cover handy, though aside;

press the plumpness between index and thumb

or spin it in a tunnel in deep earth

centrifuge it, then see what you can spot.

I’ll bet the shell, for whatever little it’s worth

that nothing poetry can be teased and spied

no fancy love slime dredged up from the crumbs.

Amazement does not leave a single trace

and blasé curdles nothing in the blood

it throbs or plummets once, and it is done;

split the shell and spin the nuclei

search fibres in the guts and in the face

crack straight backbones and slipped discs of the eye

and still there will be nothing, not a shred

however fast the particles are spun.

The leaves that I have turned, the paper thin

beams that vaulted over cobbles of dawns

the jewelled dew scattered on dead grasses

monsoon rain-misted roofs and mountaintops -

nothing remains under or on the skin;

a purple pulse might quicken, but then stops,

resumes its sedate beat, wonder passes,

so does boredom, both froth of pheromones.

Take the pods, unravel every helix;

and split the hair as fine as it can stand;

gaze into the bamboo hollow navel;

dissect each limb till you are satisfied;

and still you will find nothing in the mix -

how smiles and tears were made to coincide.

Deep into the subatomic level

rung by rung, climb down into the grand

atrium of the heart and the great dome

where bare-arsed, bare-fanged, famished nightmares pace

along the walls, chafe in their prison cells

and fringed dreams swish like stiff, curled mongrel tales.

Go over it all with a hound’s tooth comb

the froth and spit and fluids, each detail

and then put back the halves, close the pod, and tell

me what kind of love rhyme is in my face?