David Arroyo


I approached the tree clothed in skin,
no fear of rocks under my feet.
The horizon toasted the grass in soft
browns frosted orange. I didn't sneak in the shadows.
One shouldn't rebel against God under
cover of night, do it at dawn, you'll feel better.

I am the real child of light.
The serpent? Fallacious phallus. A fiction of priests
unable to accept the first truth:
the greatest sin we can commit is
aggressive ignorance.

The grapes were polished,
white as elephant tusks,
smelled like wine dry as desert midnight.
Flesh collapsed between teeth.
A purple hush cooled the back of my throat.
My curiosity slaked.

Metabolizing eons of truth in an instant,
I saw through the eyes of a brontosaurus
as a gold streak cut through a clear sky.

I touched wikipedia. A million ghosts
ran through my fingers like a waterfall,
editing my hand
editing the fruit
editing my story
into a contradiction called religion.

Yahweh was pissed.
She was looking to rumble.
I am the lord thy god,
thou shalt have no gods before me,
especially other chicks.

But she made me too much like her,
all women too much like her.

Expulsion was swift.

On the other side of Eden was
a plain of cacti and sidewinders.
My Cains, my Einsteins, my Ruths, My Bette Davis eyes,
grinding chins down, heads forward
against a sandstorm of sharp silica. The
blisters will cover us all, head to toe.

But I smiled at the
opportunities buried in the wounds,
an elastic craving expanded in
my gut. It became a wi-fi symphony humming
through my bones, speaking to me
in future languages.

It whispered,
finally, I can has cheeseburgers.

I laughed bright tears.
Adam stared blankly.

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