when we make love a billion cells break free
our bodies flowing fluid like disgendered
creatures of great beauty growing unbound gloriously
*
although we’re only human too and so quite ordinary
we spiral into plasmic dust as spores sprinkling our eggshell world
while making love a billion cells break free
*
in some identities we hardly see
among us – beside, within, beyond us – enraptured,
creatures of great beauty rising upward gloriously
*
like stars that gleam and glow in space and transiency
like birds in deep still forest undergrowth unheard
love is made perpetually so billions of our cells break free
*
our love in life is that which lets us be
ourselves in an intensity of moments scattered
creatures of great beauty growing unbound gloriously
*
we find new freedoms freeform ecstasy
now top and out of mind and sight no need for thought nor any word
when we make love a billion cells break free
like creatures of great beauty growing unbound gloriously
*
**
*
griffith park
LA
Beautiful, inspiring, full of true love and artful creativeness.
I’m glad you liked it, Becky!
There is a great fluidity in this poem, between the micro focus on (say) the cells, and the macro focus on (say) the stars.
This mimics the switch in focus between the individuals (physical and in close-up) and the more universal aspects (abstracter, in wide-shot).
Impressive, and moving.
Thanks much, James.
This is good, peer-reviewed science, right?
I mean, you haven’t just made this up, have you?
It’s as close to science as I can make it, Colin!
The claims are falsifiable; the things described, replicable.
Imagination has only been applied as a means of imaging reality where the tools of objective science have proven to be inadequate.
Because you see, Mr Omm, I don’t think you’re treating me with quite the respect I deserve . . –
I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Fuller.
As I mentioned to Camilla below, I was heavily drunk and stoned when posting my comments. I have since recovered from an epic hangover and want to express my liking for this poem which its musical chorus-like effect mingled with an appreciation of scientific insights.
If I can say this without sounding patronizing, Colin – this question of yours shows the terrible limitations of a science-fixated mind. The whole point of this poem is to point to the creative power of love and of poetry itself. It’s ability to create new realities that are many aeons away from being apprehended by the rational mind, bogged down in science and “proof” alone. It is, frankly, ridiculous for you to demand that this is “good, peer-reviewed science”.
The power of sex is far beyond your rational power of comprehension.
Can you not squeeze that realization into your poor, limited skull?
Do you always feel impelled to destroy any mystery, anything that has some wondrous wonder about it, the things that science can’t explain, cannot even acknowledge as being real for a lack of rationality or “proof”? What kind of a poor, crawling worm are you?
I would hate to posses as limited, hidebound a mind as yours, Colon, and I pity you, living in your limited, loveless locum of lunacy and loss.
@Camilla, I was heavily drunk and stoned when posting that question, but that is not to say that it was a question without curiosity or interest, and I find your response slightly over the top, tbh.