This is my body nomad
body: spinning through space spitting
out star dust into the night
Black night surrrounding
like a black plastic canopy
nomadic body drifting upon open sea
the waves directing me to distant shores
Where is this place called HOME?
Bodies in exile in no man's land fleeing
OUTSIDER
To crimes I wish not to own
I hold no allegiance to call my own
There are mine: The whole world and the galaxies too
all the spaces away from the core...along perimeters
I am a refugee violence betrays its comfort
In a time before death when the future held its mystery
the possibility of catching stars was still a mystery
pots of gold at the ends of rainbows
paths of glory in reach--
one sunrise at a time closer
to the horizon what lay beyond? I was a dreamer
This is my body
In the circle of your arms
Here & now in this resting place
Free territory violence never
lived here
There's the sunrise in your eyes again and
distant places in your touch
This is my journey to excavate time to remember
is to dig the dirt
dusting your bones a fragmented retelling
of this disbelief we name memory
I feel the residue of your body in my body Why?
I buried your bones
This is my story.... stories are often told through bodies
Residue seeping through the pores of my skin;
curling, burrowing
epithelium each layer by layer
Your body next to mine inside of me pressing
with your story
my limbs of weed and moss pulling you in and
pushing you away
Riding meteors throughout the night
~J Chaban~
First published in "Everyday was Yesterdays";
self-publication of affirmation and prose