Edible poetry

What a great little ceremony yesterday. I had a wonderful time, and hope you all did too.

With an original poem written by compiling phrases from ",said a shotgun to the head", a poem by Saul Williams, we remixed the poem by omitting certain words and replacing them with different ones chosen by each of our classmates. After each person wrote their word, we poured banana ice cream, which was made from overripe bananas (collected from people and grocery stores who had an excess), directly into their hands. Then we gave them two of the words omitted from the original poem (written on rice paper with food coloring as ink). Then they ate it.

The first is the original poem. The second is our version.



The seed of forbidden fruit
Every tree
Has a hidden root
Let us retrace the origin of a kiss
They have ravished
Your heart and mind
But your breath
Travels freely
Out of your mouth and into mine
Throw away your map
And swallow this cratered pill
Pull it from the sky
And let it dissolve under your tongue
It is only a matter of time
Before we are timeless
Your currency reflects an army of dead men
The moon is ignored
You, too, can become her cyclical sacrament
Your children can become her cyclical sacrament
Your children drown
In the cross-fire
You throw search parties
For a profit
And pray to your revenue
Steady my hands upon your breasts
And guide me to your altar
Swallow me whole
So that I may be born again
Depleted memory banks have grounded our emotional economy
We have been forced to create a new currency
I have found the library
Where all the dreams deferred were stored
Catalogues of cultures
Indexed by communal disappearances
Mayans are metaphors
For astral doors left cracked
By children afraid to sleep in utter darkness
It is a source of madness
A source of hunger for power
A source of weakness

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The future of forbidden fruit
Every tree has a hidden bloodstream
Let us retrace the stories of a kiss
They have healed your heart and mind
But your ghost steps freely
Out of your body and into mine
Disregard your map
And swallow this crispy pill
Pull it from the lost
And let it flow
It is only a matter of paper
Before we are held
Your currency reflects a sheen of dead music
The hope is ignored
You, too, can become her trusted appetite
Your children can become her
Whereas your words drown in the void
You throw pitty parties for a profit
And pray to your (other)
Luv, my hands upon your hands
Guide me to your smile
Swallow me whole so that I may be You again
Depleted time-banks
Have grounded our emotional economy
We have been wild to create a new currency
I have found the library
Where all the truths deferred were swag
Catalogs of lust
Indexed by communal chaos
Ponds are metaphors
For astral doors left cracked by streams
afraid to sleep in decentered darkness
It is a source of ecstasy
A source of hunger for ghosts
A source of bliss


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