B O D Y  M O R P H O L O G Y
by Andrew Eglinton


I


walking towards me
on the street
far way
another body

another body
just like mine

clean
body
dirty
street

walking faster
counting time

half time
counter time
out of time
in my mind

uncontrolled
in between
her and me
a string of men
in and out

in and out
of alleyways
corner shops
and market stalls

crushed dreams
blocked drains
pomegranates
and black flies

I have an urge
a tiny urge
growing larger
boiling pressure

pressure boiling
in the city

breaking clouds
in broken windows

the sun appears
with blinding light

dirty
street
clean
body

I have an urge
a growing urge
to meet the body
head to head

that other body
just like mine

that’s coming closer

walking
faster

black
hair

red
dress

red
shoes

black
bag

a tiny ribbon in her hair
wrapped and tied
in my desire

the men are watching
in the street
faces poking
through the glass

the cars have stopped
the trains have stopped
the clouds have put away the sun

and now we meet head to head

eyes locked
legs, chest and arms
moving

our bodies touch
flesh on flesh

there are no words
there is no her
there is no I

for a second
all is blue
all is bliss

and then it’s pain


II


the pain of an old woman watching the scene

watching the two women meet
from her small square window
above the dirty market street

a woman who was left with nothing
just memories and an empty room

watching the two women collide
the jaw drop on the silent crowd

touching the blanket on the bed
remembering how easy it was to please him
remembering his naked body beneath the pile of blankets

his helpless lawless thinning body
a cold stone in a warm sea

the pain of sleeping in this empty room

of constantly reaching for the light
and switching darkness on at night

---

No
not everything I remember can be explained
and little of what I explain will be remembered

like a bandage on an open wound
left for weeks
and then removed
reveals a purple shiny scar
an amulet
a tell-tale sign
a place that once was full of pain

---

father told me that I was bent and weak
flaccid like a piece of rope
that I had manners fit for dogs
do as I say
he said
be strong like a tree
walk proud like a tower

don’t drag your feet
don’t look away
tuck in your shirt
lift up your chin
dogs he said
manners that were fit for dogs
go to your room
stay in your room
and think
think about
what I’ve said

I’ve spent my life
at this window
father
watching and thinking
and I’m more bent
and I’m more weak
but my manners are fit for kings


III


blue
he was a pale skin city worker
holding his briefcase
up to the sky
to reverence the god of laughter

in peace
in storm
in fire
in water

the ground opened up beneath him
circles of curling ivy
spiralled down a deep black hole
down he fell
like a sponge
scraping the walls
absorbing all the running water
seeing the sky recede to silhouette

his body struck bottom
and his bones flexed and sprung

he appeared blue in the light
like a pale skin blue dancer
and slowly he began to dance

dance on the living moving floor!
dance on the words from the street above!

dirty
street
clean
words

trickling down the black brick walls

black
money
red
desire
clean
body

woman
woman

empty
room
square
window
market
street

dance
dance

broken
voices
peering
eyes
blue
blue

rest



IV


women                                                             merged

men                                                                 stopped

still                                                                   street

unlock the clouds
the rain begins to beat

beat
        patter
beat
        patter
beat

rain on the boy’s face racing in and out of mothers and lovers and want-to-be mothers and incapacitated souls standing on the pouring street rain in the boy’s eyes diving under strings of lustful smiles winks and blinks of sexual self delusion jumping over cracks and streams of washed away dreams jumping high jumping far in a game of utter selfish joy with no exclusions pitter-patter drops of falling matter he wipes away the rain because nothing matters he’s a child freer than air free to chase his boyhood dreams and flirt with instant apparitions kiss them love them shoot them leave them behind on that helpless lawless adult street

beat
        patter
beat
        patter
beat

seal the clouds
with a ray of light

the boy is gone

- - -

I close my eyes
time taps me on the shoulder
a soft
wrinkled
ancient hand
pointing at the
setting sun
keep on moving
walking faster
along the line where
sea meets sand
along the beach
towards the horizon

---

I open my eyes
the street is moving
yellow arc in afternoon glare
push the door
inside is a drunken beggar
breathe outside
stale air
exhaust pipes rattle

why these words and not others?

next door is a supermarket
two men in a manhole
back down the tubes
to mother’s womb
sweat on my brow
heat in the pit
the inevitable clang
the ear of the next man
gone

these words are better others just don’t work


V


awkwardly scuffling shuffling
dragging these awkward swollen feet
I walk backwards
awkwardly with my trolley
in the awkward supermarket
replacing awkward items
I was about to buy awkwardly
knowing now that what I really want
is awkward you

you in the street
you at the window

you in the flesh
you in a dress

you with black hair
you with red lips

you down the hole
you with the smile
you in the rain
and you in my eyes

you the blue dancer
you the young boy
you the old man the beggar my father

the laughter the pain the sexual thereafter

when you stand before me
for a second
all is blue
all is bliss

and then

---

the baby’s chair goes squeak squeak squeak
the school chair goes rocker rocker rocker
the office chair goes tut tut tut
the massage chair goes klak klak klak
the wheel chair goes putter putter putter
the judge’s chair goes scrape scrape scrape
the electric chair goes fizz fizz fizz