Cannibal Chemistry: My Life as an Apricot Tree

By Pickle_Blossom

CANNIBAL CHEMISTRY: a prose poem about my life as a chemistry set


Modern Medicine such a cocky young pratt. Tells me drink the poison and swallow, swallow all that. Your body won't live if we don't adjust this and that. Now put on this hat. You do need the hat but the hat need not match. You will be happy for the pad when you fall down on your head that rests on your rotting neck. Or rather, when we drop you on it. Because we haven't quite got it down just yet.  This commonly contortioning the chemical re-portioning to make you feel your best. To help you pass the tests. To recondition your condition from this. To that. To balance the horse on top of the acrobat. Don't ask me but I'll tell you what to think about that. Because you are my Chemistry Set. I will balance you yet. You'll be the favorite flavor at the red-carpet fete. Just try not to bleed on it. Red on red is not in fashion just yet. But come swallow this. 

We'll put it in your bones to make your kidney stones. Diamonds. Modern Chemistry can manage that like pulling a rabbit out of a hat. You have all the ingredients. Carbon based life simply needs time. Carbon is all a Diamond needs to Be. So now you see. Just follow my finger to peep. Diamonds are the source. Of you, of me. Diamonds are the source of We. At least in Chemical Speak. But don't speak. We'll need heat. Carbon from your kidney needs. Heat to transform from weak aching flesh to Diamond. Strongest stone in the land. And Modern Man can. Transform your broken hand.

So take this tonic and don't think on it when you begin to sweat. Heat. No Dear, no Sweet, don't you worry. The sweating while freezing is not displeasing. The nausea, the headaches, and tremors, Dear Test - it isn't Withdrawel it is merely "Cessation Effects." Would I do that to My Chemistry Set? Wait. Don't answer that.

You have not a say because your mouth washed away amidst the chemists spray of modern day. Medicine. But listen intent and you'll hear the call out "Hail to the Chief" Surgeon of Neuropathy. No you don't have a pain in your teeth. I took them out last week. You were grinding them in your sleep. But it was only the Chemical Dreams. Eat, you think. There is no need to eat. Simply swallow these. Medicines like diamonds. Make humans do desperate things. Promise transformations. From potions and sparkles and stoppers in bottles and bodies are bottles of Death. The only question is. Who let in the draft? I think I feel the wind of life blow through me once again. But modern, Modern Medicine can snatch away that. For science, for study, for future generations, my little Lab Rat, My Dear Chemistry Set.

Waiting for the opening I sit. In transmutation floating just a bit. What is this latest sip? By George I think you've done it. I can't fell my lips. I feel free of painful bits. But I wish, I wish to kiss. But I cannot feel my lips. On this. Miraculous carcass whose chemical composits sit. In the dirt in the worm in the pit. Of an apricot birthing a tree. The Ovum, the Egg is a Seed. Planted on birthing me. The calcium teeth of missed opportunity dismantle their toothly fit. They rot, is the long and short of it. And give life with their anatomy while changing their conformity. To be - molecularly - as they dangle the in hollows of flowers as they take penetration from bees. A cross-pollinization across species. And remnants of me. Carried to the sky on flower-fed wings. To wallow in the Swallow's feces. Dropped down upon the pit - the apricot pit - where the calcium from my tooth does live. Transference. Cycle through the cycle on the bicycle where we sit with a handle basket.

Full of apricots that I cannot eat. Because the little pratt stole my teeth while I was dreaming those Chemical Dreams. He says I sought the Remedy for my pain. But they. Had chemical Agents in my brain. So if I sought and if I thought, was that thinking Me? But scratch and screech, I cannot bite he took my teeth. When I lost my fought with Modern Chemistry. Well-intentioned treachery in the battle in my body to feel that breeze. A bottle of Death is me. 

Modern Medicine a little man who barely stands. High enough to reach his hat. Pay no attention to that little fact. That he is a toddler and the human race is miles longer than the cycle of his life times thirty. Million atoms in your Chemistry. I ponder the Egg of the Apricot Tree. Would not ancient knowledge serve us in happy bondage because she knows how to weave. In and out of flowers, making useful dours. A gift for Seeing is the Dowager's Dowry. To marry me. While taking pills and growing powers, I seize too long to seize the Remedy. It is lost to me. Chemically.

But we. Now see in their microscopes and zoetropes what Ayahuasca long since wrote. That chemistry are we. A balancing act of the utmost degree. And the pills and the lotions take from me. My dreams. At night sleep. A chemical sleep. At dawn break the fast with Modern Chemistry. Or do not wake on morrow's wings.

So drink the drink of chemistry, drink the drink made for me, drink the poison tea. Drink the Custom Cocktail down to turn all your frowns around. In. The Chemical Me. I am born again from Chemistry. I drink the chemists potion, tea, and learn about recycling. The detritus of chemical me. Pours from my pores on the Seratonin Ocean shores of sweat that nurtures the droplet that falls to the flowery feet in the dirt by the tree. And casts my Chemical Chemistry into the soil wherein the worm swims down its Channel to the home where it sits cozily. In the apricot pit birthing a tree.

And that, Modern Chemistry can see is why your used-to-be-teeth are part of an apricot tree. Technically. Correct technically there is chemistry but chemistry in my body is not me. I am not the Apricot Tree. Whose flesh is yielding to uncover its seed. As I eat toothlessly. Taste sweet ruthlessly I see. My body, on the bicycle by means of Modern Chemistry, is still a spoke in the cycle of perverse reverse feed. From the apricot tree, chemically, I eat the rebirth of Me through Cannibal Chemistry.


NOTE: This poem is about the last few years of my life, as doctors have tried to keep me "functional" while my connective tissues fall apart and my bones grind against each other, obviously the pain is a deal breaker. So I have the choice to simply live the rest of my life on obscene amounts of opiates, but then I am not me. So I have spent years trying to find the perfect - they call it a cocktail - of medications that gets rid of enough pain that I can move, but leaves enough brain that I am still ME. I'm mentioning this so no one mistakes this as an ode to chemical solutions. I'm still working on the novels for But mostly I've been fighting with my body. As you may have gleaned. ;^)

Cannibal Chemistry: My Life as an Apricot Tree

Created: Jun 19, 2011


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