…and god appeared at the foot of my bed,
looked at me solemnly, and imperially said:
“you are the chick who has doubted my existence;
not wanting to commit to fundamental decisions
as to the teachings and spiritual requirements of me;
claiming that you cannot hold true to blind faith,
due to your inability to believe what you cannot see.
so my child, i will teach you that without me, you have fundamentally failed.
as i have imparted the poetic wizdom through the gemineye bloodline,
now your poetic output, i will enhance and refine.”

i lay and quivered, devoid of all emotion but for fear, as she extracted a hypodermic sharpie,
glided regally towards me, and plunged it errantly betwixt my breast.
immediately, i felt the ream of power flow through my chest,
as i twisted, writhed and bellowed her name,
blinded …but yet, i could see with absolute lucidity, all that she had in store for me…
that is,
the elevation of me – poetically.
mouth opened wide, agape with wonder,
as the sharpie’s ink ravaged and plundered,
and i orgasmically surrendered,
to my poetic fate.

as i lay there,
immobilized, and unsure,
feeling the perception of poetic wizdom surge throughout my core,
seeing the shadowed veins throbbing through the casement of my skin,
adjusting and implementing her poetic offerings,
taking heaving, shuddered breaths, sobbing with abject pain,
‘twas then that i realized,
all that had been scribed by me before –
were bullshit, and lies.
deceitful poems devoid of the armament of her truth.
scripted tales of my misbegotten youth.
stilted rhymes of my seeming emotional, traumatic sagas;
fraught with standard, repetitive, programmed stanzas.
my refusal to look within and to chart a new poetic path –
‘fro, the poetic explorer, like louis and clarke;
developing new rhyme schemes, and complex poetic themes,
all that i had never lived…but, had subconsciously dreamed.

sharpie protruded from betwixt my breast, there lay i,
feeling a cool caribbean breeze rush through me,
to the rhythm of mutabaruka’s dub poetry.
pulsating drums thumping in my head, as his poetry lifted, and shifted my bed;
me sobbing frantically, and feeling quite unworthy of her generous gift…
it was then that mr. walcott made a poetic in(ter)jection,
interrupting muta’s dub recitation, with a subtle and smooth poetic transition …
his healing verbiage flowing imperially through my veins,
merging with muta’s staccato refrains,
the corpuscles suddenly combining with the rhythms of tanya stevens,
they laughing raucously at my moaning and keening,
experiencing tanya’s musical rebellution, via the means of my poetic evolution;
her words inundating the root of me,
beating around the ventricles of my heart passionately,
unfettered power and drive within…
i knowing then, that i would never again be the same…

eventually, i smiled, and proceeded to accept god’s benevolent gift;
…settling into orgasmic poetic bliss, sappy smile ensconced on face,
as sparrow and griner started a poetic medley,
and my fingers snapped uncontrollably to the up-tempo calypso rhythm,
fraught with conscious talks of a unified caribbean;
touching on the west indian history that they had lived and breathed,
a naïve vision that i could never have conceived, as a fledgling poet;
now, i stood arrogantly, ready to add my poetic inflections to their raucous, mature lyrics,
until…
ms. lou commanded that i shut up and sit, to take in the poetic oration,
she emitting her gut wrenching laugh at my look of adoration
as she extracted the sharpie from my chest cavity at god’s behest,
then salved my wound with a maternal touch;
god looking on, arrogant and smug at my new found clarity,
i, feeling devout, and so very sublime,
as they all welcomed me to the poetic bloodline.

***
'Fro

THANX WIZ!!!!