by Stephen Mead
Throughout us go curves:
All nerves & electrical cells, all
Brushfire fiber cleaving muscle
To bone. Tissues too are tactile
As they pour
Pore to pore.
Breathing this creates pulses of iron,
The ore of blue metal gunning for blacksmiths,
The smoky compressions between horse shoes,
Brandings & other such marks of trade.
Is the heat of flanks steaming?
Is oil teeming in streams?
Is char spilling away clean
From the sparks & the rubbing
That winds our machinery’s clockwork?
Slipping down, glowing, mist cooling
From what smoldered, our spirit’s loins
Stretch wider, glide as no other,
For this is the light still,
Circle to arc,
That darkness calls through.
As a writer and artist publishing for the last three decades, Stephen Mead has finally gotten around to getting links to his poetry still online at various zines available in one place: Poetry by Stephen Mead. His latest Amazon release is entitled “Our Spirit Life””, a poetry/art meditation on family heritage, love, and the evanescence of time. For Christmas 2014 he released a sound collage song cycle, “Threnody for a Forgotten Plague”, a series-in-progress, dealing with the early days of the AIDS Pandemic, free to listen to via Amazingtunes.com.