1.  self-mythology; ruin

 

I knew to tilt the vinyl just enough to warp the sound

              but not how to dip my face under water

              to see the boy in me drowning.

 

when the bible said jesus walked on water

it meant every one of us stands

             with an ocean underfoot.

 

most of us sink half our soul to seabeds. 

 

in my coming-of-age

                                        I tethered my boyhood to a sunken ship.

            boy soul, the son I could’ve been.

 

at nineteen young luxx was all fur coats and lingerie

              bowie grinning off the record player,

kid-come-woman still learning how to swim

             preoccupied with being the opposite of men.

 

shaved bare and shitless, tits up and clothes strewn across the room

ain’t no costume colder than that of the young woman.

 

 

       2.  Carl Jung; analysis

 

i've seen you, big man, locking

          horns as if the world were closing

in. a single seed in both fists

             show me your overwatered harvest,

lady soul perspiring through your skin

 

(she always escapes, btw

an underwater with wings).

 

with a record skipping on the deck,

             you press yourself into a woman

you just met, lamplight pouring shadows

              round the room.

 

Jung named an animated foreign body

             in the ocean of each of us,

saw men clawing back towards the womb

 

warned us if we neglect our opposite

             sex-      soul could lead to death.

 

gender. the oldest weapon against ourself.

 

 

       3.  Amina Coming; disorder

 

bowie knew

when the tides come

her scent will intoxicate you

rising from drain holes

open windows

air vents blowing smoke

of thin cigarettes

you will drown in her

grinning too / unsure of why you’re grinning too.

 

big man, the abyss is always watching you.

look at us:

 

                        dusting eternity off our knees

                        rinsing shadows down plug holes

                        wiping soul off reading glasses,

                        we ain't clean right through.

 

she will be your living end.

 

my boy soul became suspended

beneath the record player needle,

abandoned song

 

                           humming haunt into my nudity.

 

water is how we measure fright.

if I had been all soil and winged,

I could've pretended I couldn't hear him

echoing through the emptiness, 

chasing me to hospital beds.

 

big man, you were in the bed beside me

no beetle cars, or musky scents.

we both swallowed too much sea.

you looked a lot like a part of me.

 

 

          4.   Amina Fought and Won; spiritual development

 

this small blue we shiver on

is a costume party

 

          but at 4am when the tides come in

          we’re tender, bare faced,

 

          clothes strewn across the floor.

          that breadcrumb trail of surrender.

 

          naked, walking round the room

          extractor fan blowing through a soul

          you can’t be told

          has always been chasing after you.

 

my boy soul was not my living end

I lay that belief on you.

 

the lady of your soul grins, laughing;

 

she will change your point of view

don’t be afraid of the shadows who seduce you.

flooding into this room

 

that grinning, half-sung, still singing

soul, will come will go.