Song Of The Body



i.	Imagine how we all would sound
        without our heads, if all
        we had were throat, tongue, jaw, and mouth,
        but not the hard white bone

        of cranium within which all
        we say reverberates
        to soften and refine itself
        into a melody.

        We'd be like rusty guitar strings
        stretched taut and played without
        a soundbox, quiet yet still harsh
        and twangy. How could we

        distinguish the discordant from
        the balanced voice? How then,
        in the absence of the skull, discern
        the presence of the heart?

ii	Imagining this, it's not so hard
        to postulate the growth
        of bulky parietal bone,
        dome-like above the ears,

        as evolution's wise response
        to the urgent need of the heart
        to articulate itself.
        Implied in this, of course,

        existence of the heart
        before the mind, the primacy
        of intuition over clear
        hard absolutes of reason.

        Strange to think that all we've said,
        or ever longed to say,
        was there already, only waiting
        for the chance to say itself.

ii	We've always thought of cavemen grunting.
        Appropriate, it seems,
        given their awkward slouch, their stark
        bowleggedness. Their thick

        course hands we imagine grappling clubs
        or some crude instrument
        of violence. "Ugh," one might have said
        to greet the other. Ugh!

        But maybe cavemen sang. Perhaps
        they only cooed at first,
        then punctuated their soft voices
        with sharpened consonants,

        but only for the sake of adding
        a rhythm to their songs.
        The S's were the cymbals of
        the earliest percussion.

iv	If it is true that language is
        a bleeding of the heart,
        that heads are only hollow spaces
        where voices resonate,

        then why not argue for the rest,
        that torso, arms and legs--
        through careful movements, like in dance--
        give ample evidence

        of their first purpose, to express
        the silent hidden pain
        of knowing of the nothingness
        they must have all come from,

        but not remembering it, the curse
        of every atom. Listen
        as all existence strains to give
        voice to the still unspoken.			


Luke Meisner