Thursday 19 January 2017

Genetic Engineering by Adam Parry

1.
Does it reduce within me?
Poor cousin from cold hill,
when trees made houses
and only birds and insects would fly then.
Cousin Peter, too many centuries ago,
sent his blood to me in a warm fire lit room
on a rug clutching Auntie someone in his arms.
Spermheads my egg-mother now unknown
lost where no grave marked her leaving.
But, baby brother conceived my have made her leave.
New brother, sibling stepping into the shoes of
Lucy and Mark's dead dog.
Cousin Peter loved the Lord
and put baby name in the Latin book,those
speechless litanies.
He wrote his name black as the ink.
Judah named, cos Father stereotype, long, long
before the nailing of the new God on
Worm's door, said Judah than he said 'hello'.
To Peter, Lucy, Mark and Judah one more blessing
in the ill conceived tilled over ground.
Planting comes and goes, then comes the gold comes
the Harvest comes the snow.
Then Judah died, left new Mum, single babe
abandoned by time and so soon the rains fell.
Little Thomas fell below Peter's name cos mama had no time
to leave her own.

2.

So passes time, tears pass, tears less numerable
than a single storm.
With judah gone, Mum gets conned
by Joe Zander, a blacksmith from the bad side of time where
the caravans rest, and was repaid for her Home and the
land she never owned with Minah, the girl she needed in her
nightly plea to good.
Little Minah got all tangled up and lost.
Too many wars, and revolutions, too many days circling the change.
A-leaving, a passing. A thousand, thousand past lives never told
forgot.
I lost my lineage.

3.

Now here in this place.
Still. Only rain music in my only ear.
I paint a sky - slap dash: too much blue, boo-hoo.
I have a drink too many and can't afford a whore
while Gauguin wanks upon a sunflower on my kitchen floor.
I painted peasants but they made me cry.
I loved and loved but she left me to die.
One day I'll break the colourless chain of pains.
There is a field I know...
At least Theo will not have to bail me out again.
I'll be as free as the sirocco and rage in the trees.

None will come from me, it is done.
The line is broken.
I will not have to burn these endlees seeds:
sketches of daydreams, bright blue as my eyes, wide as the rivers
and cloudless blue skies.

4.

It grows in me, grows somewhere in me.
Twisted ribo-nucleotides rushing spiral-like waves.
Guanine and cytosine. No chance of escape.
Adenine and the other one.
Mismatched and unciphered, a second-hand jigsaw waiting
to be remade and fitted back two by two.
But obliterated, by change, change, no change please we're British.
Until unfigured I fell, just another statistic cleaning Gound Zero
Watching old souls go, embacing clouds in the high air.
I watched too as I rise from the twisted wreck, there I died there.
I soar and soared above the Twin Towers
a garden shrine so far away.

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