I see hummingbirds.
they come close, sipping sugary water. I see silence in humming like strumming
a guitar. I hear snares so wild many nets along its path. it was pain first,
many interior omens, trying hard to accept us. a little ant ignoring a larger
world, terrorized by happenstance. one giant anteater, a happy dismal creature,
so simple, one objective; to efface me to erase ink, beauty sleeps in misery.
I’ve thought of
one, communing at points, affronted by phantasms; core isolation leads to awkwardness
where too, it becomes certain answers. Art is fruit or color or tone – tender musicality,
European fire, aesthetic hips and pains or hurt deeper into sweetness.
Art is without
death, given life, it has no rhythm when lonely. maybe fabrication, where mind
wakes up – it’ll entertain its cluster.
I see starlings,
purple-red-black skies – Africa has pain, glory, and death.
by azure or
plumbless seas those sea-green explorers. or brown made sable or sabertooth
eyes. round or made almond at cyan made blue at reasons to give warmth to
coldness; a callous defense, or readily with kinship, where outsiders try desperately.
time waited forms false impressions. firebrick looms by distance. a man palms
firebrand.
dusty underbrush.
another force of ants. one vibrates in order to succeed.
I know why she’s
extraordinary … where she blossoms … she’s meticulous.
sugarapple(s) or
breadfruit, a cup of coco, a bit meditative. upon mandrill strings, into a
mini-field, looking at tornado eyes.
a person watches
while plucking berries a place upset inside. or relishes in a stranger,
exhausted from joys, eating figs. certain to fall by love’s chamber unsure of
tomorrow’s gaze – a cup of guava a palm of gardenias.
one looks at a
symbol, as a lotus, we might find solemnity … a reason to push further, a
second to make distinction, a glimpse of legs walking by.
