Malaria, Poems

Die Never Always

26 DIE NEVER ALWAYS Night shadows swallow day shadows, but somewhere in this world of place the muscled music of migration burns the organs of birds to conserve the water that elsewhere sparks the language of roofs. Wild: birds armored by feathers the mosquito pierces near the eyes. Lab: incapacitated mice are strewn like meat strips on a grill so the baby skeeters can feed through their netted cages. Elsewhere and simultaneously a clap for a handicapped with a clap to kill the mosquito bouncing off bathroom mirrors. We can’t peel shadows from sidewalks and drape their drippings over black-gummed bums or the floating plastic bags in animal flight that quiver hard in wind with peristaltic jerks like proud flags of self-destruction. We can’t compost shadows like experience composts within us. Larger than their landing spots make obvious. More than their wings and thorax. Like stars they are beyond their manmade metaphoric formlessness. A bear! A warrior with shield! Everything has an origin. More than the unseen felt silences between, a depth ecology unquantifiable. No ideas but in things and no thought on ideas but in the things behind. What sporozoites! What quinine! What radioisotopes! What ectoplasmic cauldron of matter stirs the addicts to drag their melting postures like thought’s curious curve like antennae’s curious curve but not like the spruce limb bent low by clamped snow kowtowing to blazing white or blazing orange Buddhist monks or French pressed coffee that mimics like melioidosis the steady drip of our own choking extracts into microwave safe Howls of Moloch— safe spaces of mechanized mindscapes, humdrum stabilities of buttoned desperations that buzz but don’t, 27 that are stuck still in the center of our own created continuums— a world of place and barely space with sting nor sing. Sciencing boils others to crystalloid cytoplasm. Some from is in. Some in is from. Then it’s judged by Technotemper who forms the alchemy. The ear in earth goes unheeded, and the blue and green bioball spins us on regardless of how calm the skin of our texts or waters or wars. Explaining explains away and we become more important to we and not subordinate to the whistling lopsided egg riddled with thorns. Research can’t feel the sentences larvae speak though we know their dance and come closer to them and distance— a white parasol, lungs open, collapses closed when we need the sun’s needs. Rays reaching into invisible middles. Banded abdomens. We first move our sentient selves with the bones of breath exhaled and twitch go the maxillary palps odorant detectors. Speak the way voice stumbled on tongues before it scraped pages. If in the mind of mountain we are as still to it as it to us who left then to listen to how the portrait of a man as a young pupa pulls? Directly as the crow or with the long drag of ribboned scent or wounded cockroach or the sticky sweet of the spilled global health money pitcher pooling along the porous concrete of male pattern baldness and obesity and impotence. Why this is how mosquitoes mate with male head removed! Here here here 28 is how it injects its saliva so your blood doesn’t coagulate, and here is how the fluid needle proboscis slurps your blood. Next we move to scent, okay. Yes it sees with wafting co2 and lactic acid. People died. People are dying. People are dying? People are dying! 2.7 million every year. Now. Yeah? What’s the Glasgow Coma Score? What about the flagella? Who the Nobel? Seriously. Name the names. Who did what and when and where on flashcards. Now! What cauldron of tenure and legacy may stir the crisp white sails of lab jackets to wake and sleep only after wrinkled with the dry sweat of loud desperations from too-damn-far-away-to-give-a-shit-reallys. The screws of the microscope are rusted red like Kenyan soil from researcher’s sweat. Magnified red blood cells look like dried peaches, don’t they? Do you see the dried peaches? The pictures of yellow veins because parasites devoured hemoglobin or 30-second celebritized commercials with pop star sounds to malarial comatose or bloated bellies and cleft lip and palate, but my goodness her red heels were killer, weren’t they? Commentator swimming through IV to arrest our amygdala and escort...