Who is Wordbone?
I am from linseed oil, from turpentine and sable bristles.
I am from woodsmoke, orange flames licking charred limbs, black oak caressing bare feet and rosy toes.
I am from dogwood, burgundy bones cracking open frost crystals to shove buds into the light.
I am from stomach growling, nose twitching, back-sweat trickling Wigilia, a sacred midnight watch, and from bloody swords of justice, from Miriam and Feliks and the withered teacher selling cut roses at the market.
I am from blossoming arms and a fortress of crisscrossed arms, from eyes as round as saucers and eyelids cross-stitched tight. From your day will come, too busy and don’t do that.
I am from calloused knee, 12-part harmony, holy water and abandoned crutches. I am from the Immaculate Conception, sharp wet palms, yeasty bread and bitter salt, from tattooed egg. I am from Rilke and Coelho, Artemis, Hecate and Hestia, and on Lao Tzu‘s way.
I’m from slippery cobblestone gutters, meaty moss-torn mushrooms and hand-craddled plum dumplings, round as the sun and drowning in butter.
From swollen red stripes laid on shivering back, from Hussars zithering on mad horses into battle, from Chopin’s crisp heel-tapping Mazurka, prancing Polonaise and loping Krakowiak, Jablonski’s night-shattering nocturnes and Jarek‘s cutting stained glass.
Tossed from a whale’s wink, I am a teardrop suspended in airless catacombs under Wawel and Torun Castles. There, serpentine scales are numbered on my dragon’s back, undulating in a carousel bereft of light.
I am from charcoal and Conte, acrylic writhing out of the crevices of canvas. I am from digital slices of time, caught 24 frames a second, stopped and rewound. Under sepia uniforms with translucent gazes in candlelight punctuated by neon, I am from the colour-tickling brush and earth-hugging broom. With powdered ash and golden yolk, I thicken burnt sienna, ultramarine and cadmium, watched by frameless heads on nameless walls.
I am the green bud, nourished by a gnarled stump, sanctuary of generations. All these, in time hollowed out and softened quicken an unborn seed, innocent breath upon the wind.
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