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(530) Origins of Desire - Nurkse

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  • Sam Droege
    Origins of Desire After Lynn Margulis and Dorion Sagan 1. Anima This is the groundwork: Autopoesis, constant creation of the self from sunlight. But gender
    Message 1 of 1 , Apr 4 9:53 AM
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      Origins of Desire

      After Lynn Margulis and Dorion Sagan

      1. Anima

      This is the groundwork:
      Autopoesis, constant creation
      of the self from sunlight.

      But gender varies like the breeze
      and sex like tides.

      Thousands of quasi-sexual fathers
      might fuse and form our body,
      just visible on a net-veined leaf.

      We might cannibalize each other
      and the indigestible rind
      become the partner.

      Or we might trade
      genes for male and female
      like beads or playing cards.

      But we are each built of water
      locked in a membrane.

      The same comet-tail sperm
      in starfish, ginkgo, and human.

      2 Red Giants

      Hydrogen caught fire
      in the forge of the nebulae
      and fused to carbon�

      our element, pliant,
      ready to combine
      with any foreign body:

      magnesium, calcium, contaminants
      released in the great explosion
      that lit the sky like a match

      before there was a mind to understand
      the advantages of annihilation.

      3 Archaen Microbes

      When the dust clouds
      rolled back from the earth
      we died of radiance�
      the sun burnt holes
      in the inmost braid of DNA.

      Light-nourished, light poisoned,
      we migrated into rock
      or traded little damaged pieces
      of self between each other,

      enshrining separation inside us,
      creating the blueprint
      for an absolute stranger.

      4 The Unlit Room

      The mind is a story
      that found a way
      to tell itself�but who
      is the confidant, who
      the eavesdropper,
      who gropes for a switch
      along this invisible wall?

      In our narrow bed
      we hear the catch
      of the other's breath,
      faint Muzak, an ice machine,
      a late goose honking
      toward the idea of south.

      Between five and six
      we whisper our presentiment�
      great herds going blind
      in Patagonia, a moth species
      extinguished at every breath.

      We exaggerate a little.
      Those extra zeroes
      hold our reprieve.

      Perhaps it is too late
      and we can still make love
      and catnap toward dawn.

      But even if we close our eyes
      we are still married.

      - D. Nurkse




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