I try to locate that space, the terms, to reevaluate life and love. the native teepee is a shining point, upon a jutted gift, into a rising canyon. to tumble or gallop through deserts—the scar is tender—the sunshine is pale blue. aside a jasper tree, a mushroom has sprouted, a gazelle is nibbling. the fields are robust and plush with flowers and fruits and rabid little insects. the memory would sway the land, delving into fantasy elements, singing to, or sung to by Gentility. despite cages, confined dreams, and closed satchels—those curious feelings, the world moving, seeping into luxuries.
by a ghost or mist or fable—the ways of eeriness, the haunted cabin, the woods filled with emptiness.
in a soul growing into ages, connected to the human zeitgeist, many currents in our disagreements; some are with favor, others are with disturbance, and again, others are vague with meaning.
the blond blades, atop grassy green or lime strands, aside dirty anthills and red ants. sitting in silence, watching as time paddles by, the many discrepancies with the skies; so taboo, as never mentioned, or so mentioned, its undercover taboo.
the summer’s heat, the savannah aflame, doing more to hide the sweltering moisture; moving minds into motion, suffering the economy, sullen the walkthrough politics. homes filled with absence, elders cooking and jazzing the guitar seated on the couch; deeper dreams, broken hydrants, many children screaming, having a good time, until evening comes. hunger. enough with it. just enough of it.
we
try to evaluate life and love — ‘the way life is’ — the color of existence, but
it changes so often.
