Algimantas Mackus - Untitled #2

The voice of a continent prays for explorers
the voice of a continent cries out for adventure.
Round as water, salty as it is,
I raise the season of death to my lips.

You had to be born of rain and ocean, torso.
You had to be silver, plaster, water,
for a bloody act of sexual resurrection
to give the northern moonlight back its
torso of a terrain, its joy turning to stone.

The map a fateful hand etched finds one voice
growing and towering out of fog, once the voice
of a continent cries out for explorers:
the voice of a continent emerging from non-God.

Cold so cold I want only the cold
green September moonlight,
and that map copper inscribed
intaglio, to blend in with the blood.
Grey all grey for I want all of the grey
September sunrise sacrifice,
and that map in an uncovered
network of bone, to pour out of the blood.

The voice of a continent assailing explorers is
the voice of a continent submitting to their exploit.
It's for the bloody act of sexual resurrection
you, torso, had to be born of rain and ocean.

Voice of a landmass, now body and sex,
squeals out hysterical just before dawn, against the fact
that in a copper plate, intaglio,
midway through the ritual, an enraged God set out
to revoke the mass redemptions he threw down.

Round as water, salty as it is,
I give God his season of death back.
I will not accept solid, everyday detail.
I will not accept the ripe oval shape a grape has.

Algimantas Mackus

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/untitled-2-103/